


Black Country

by Zooheaded



Series: The Hunter and the Thief [4]
Category: Diablo (Video Game), Diablo III
Genre: ADHD Character, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Demisexual Character, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Graphic Description of Corpses, Heavy Angst, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pansexual Character, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 15:04:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 152,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1432846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zooheaded/pseuds/Zooheaded
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Act V: Death comes to all.</p><p>(News: Epic revision in progress, I'll probably be breaking chapters up to more digestible lengths so it'll look like I'm adding more chapters but really I'm just cutting shit in half and spacing it out. I know this is gonna fuck up the comments section but... can't be helped.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lyndon Has a Problem, Jack has Several

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go guys! Been wanting to write this story since the beta was out and now I've finally caught up with myself (and took the time to play through the expansion a few times.) Expect this story to be very slashy and very angsty. The expansion deals with death in a very direct and visceral manner and I will do my best to do the same. And yes, I do plan on including smut in future chapters (seriously, this shit is gonna get spicy. You have been warned?). Violence is also gonna happen and it won't be pretty, I'm a horror enthusiast. Perspective will also change when it pleases me and when I feel it works best.
> 
> I'll say this now just in case, but major Reaper of Souls (and D3 Vanilla) spoilers ahead, do yourself a favor and finish the game before reading any further! I will also include lots of repurposed game dialogue.
> 
> For any fans of 'The Hunter and the Thief,' do not be concerned, I'll still update that periodically until I've gone through all the acts. Sorry, I'm just slow.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (If you are interested, prequels are: 'The Hunter and the Thief,' 'First Light,' and 'Rest Stop,' in that order. They're not exactly essential to enjoy this tale, but they will likely be made reference to.)
> 
>  I love comments! Please leave some!

_Bound for the black country_  
_as the light recedes behind._  
_Upon the white odonatar_  
_Witch's vision as their guide._  
  
_Be wary and keep watch tonight_  
_Make sure your weapon's at hand._  
_Here in the land where shines no light_  
_Death can strike you where you stand._  
― _Arrows in the Dark_ , The Sword

 

 

 _He's avoiding me._ Lyndon thought sourly.

Every time Jack had caught his eye, the hunter would turn pink, frown, and look away from him. The thief was not so subtly staring at the Demon Hunter seated beside him, who was pointedly gazing into the trees. Jack was likely observing a bluebird or a chipmunk or whatever the Hell _else_ crept about in the woods that he liked to look at, just so he wouldn't have to look at _Lyndon_.

It should have been rather difficult to avoid the scoundrel because they happened to be sitting _next_ to each other in a caravan making the trek to Westmarch. They had broken off from the other travelers sometime ago and it was just the three of them now in the blacksmith's forge/house. And the _horse_ , Lyndon supposed, but that wasn't a person. Really, it should have been impossible to avoid each other, but as he often did with impossible tasks, Jack somehow found a way to do it. Lyndon assumed he was likely confused over their little tryst in Holbrook, but what was there to be bloody confused about? People snogged and did things like that every bleeding day. It wasn't a big deal. Jack had either wanted to or he didn't, and he _had_ wanted to, Lyndon had been one hundred and ten percent certain of _that._ The only thoughts that should come after the deed was done were 'do I want to do it again? Or _no_? _'_ There wasn't supposed to be any shyness or shame or _embarrassment_ from either party when it was consensual. If anything, getting a little tail was a confidence booster. It was really as simple as that.

Except for when it _wasn't_.

Lyndon thought about the Demon Hunter almost constantly. He thought about the line of his shoulders and the muscles flexing beneath the tattoo on his back. He thought about the hard steel of his forearm that could grip so tightly. He thought about his short fingernails, at the ends of long fingers that were attached to graceful hands, which birthed stinging lines over Lyndon's shoulder blades as the hunter lost himself to sensation. He thought about his mouth, usually hard and thin, and drawn downwards in a grimace, but so soft when he had kissed him. He thought about the intensely sensitive column of his neck that Lyndon wanted to fasten his teeth around and bite until the other man whimpered. Gods alive, he even _smelled_ good, sitting next to him was slightly torturous.

But mostly he thought about the ocean he saw in Jack's eyes that had _so_ reminded him of home. Nearing Westmarch, he was starting to be able to smell hints of salty ocean air. Kingsport was never far from his mind.

“I'm going to scout up ahead.” The hunter said suddenly, then jumped from the cart and landed gracefully, outpacing their meandering caravan in a few quick strides. His long legs propelled him at a speed that Lyndon knew from personal experience was rather difficult to keep up with... Now he was thinking about how those legs had felt wrapped around his body and _squeezing_ him in the inn as he had brought the other man over the edge. That led to thoughts of how _good_ it would be to have those legs thrown over his shoulders as he pounded the hunter into the mattress. Lyndon bit his lip a little and tore his eyes away to stare down at the ferrets that were in a scuffle over a mouse carcass. He observed them playing tug-of-war with it until its little mouse head was separated from its little mouse shoulders, effectively destroying any erotic thoughts he'd had. He'd certainly created a _problem_ for himself hadn't he? He wasn't used to waiting and yearning. Whenever he wanted someone this badly he usually didn't have to work very hard to get it. It had been less than a week since, but it was getting harder and harder to keep his internal promise of being patient with the hunter. He shouldn't have even _started_ this in the first place. He sighed and watched Jack disappear over the hill with an intense longing.

“See somethin' yeh like?” Haedrig asked casually from somewhere to his left.

 _Bloody Hell!_ He jumped, startled, and immediately felt self conscious. “Uhm, _Nooo_?” Lyndon answered awkwardly.

Haedrig sighed and got up from where he had been sitting and leading their horse. He came over and sat next to him, content to let the beast lead itself for minute apparently.

“Lyndon, can I ask yeh somethin'?”

“The answer is yes, I've _always_ looked this good.” He said immediately with a little laugh.

“That's fine, but tha's not what I wanted t'ask about.” The blacksmith replied evenly, lighting his pipe carefully and shielding its contents from the breeze with a meaty hand.

“What _did_ you want to ask about then?” Lyndon asked with trepidation, already feeling like he knew where this was going.

“Jack.”

Ah, of course, should have been more careful, _stupidstupid,_ he thought furiously.

“What _about_ him?” Lyndon said defensively.

“You like 'im, you want to bed 'im, hm?” Haedrig asked conversationally.

Stunned at the casual way the blacksmith had said it Lyndon sputtered ridiculously,“Wh-what?! I- _How_ did you-” He couldn't even properly form words. How had Haedrig gleaned so much in just a few _days_?! Were they _that_ bloody obvious?

“Yeh go away together for two months, come back and yer all over each other like a couple of ferrets. Well, _you_ more so than him.” Haedrig explained calmly.

“Haedrig my friend I think you are _woefully_ mistaken.” Lyndon said quickly in a bid to save himself.

“I was born in the night lad, but it wasn't _last_ night.” The blacksmith muttered dryly.

Lyndon went silent, biting his bottom lip a bit.

“I don' much care what form attraction or love takes.” Haedrig continued. “The way this world is... yeh have t'take it where yeh can find it and hold on to it because yeh never know when it might be ripped away from yeh.” He finished sadly.

The thief nodded, remembering the smith's poor wife.

“So yeh like him.” Haedrig stated. It was not a question.

Lyndon sighed and looked around quickly, the Demon Hunter was still further down the road. “Well... _yes_ , alright? Yes I do.” He hissed lowly.

“Honestly you don't really seem to be his _type_.” The blacksmith half joked.

“Why, because I'm a _man_?”

“No, because you're _you_.” Haedrig said earnestly, blowing smoke out of his nose.

“Hmph.” Lyndon sulked.

“So yeh get 'im, bed 'im. Then what?” Haedrig asked quietly.

“I don't _know_ , I didn't think that far ahead!” Lyndon answered quickly, still looking around to make Jack was not within earshot.

“Well you had damned well _better_!” The blacksmith snapped, startling the thief. “It frightens him, don't yeh _notice_ it?” He continued, quiet again.

“What...?” The scoundrel asked curiously, Jack was a little _shy_ yes, but he wasn't really afraid of anything, especially not Lyndon.

“Put that clever brain of yours to use lad, and _think_ now. Do you have any idea, how much it would hurt 'im if yeh just used 'im and left 'im afterward?“You really don't know why he's jumpier than a barn spider around yeh now?” Haedrig muttered seriously.

“ _No_ -”

“Yeh pick people up and discard them over and over again. It's what yeh _do_. He obviously doesn't want to be _next_.” Haedrig interrupted. "Can't say I blame 'im, seems a miserable enough bloke already without complicatin' things with yeh."

“I wouldn't do that to _him_!” Lyndon scoffed, offended.

“Oh, so you're going to stay with him _exclusively_ then?” Haedrig crowed sarcastically.

“ _Yes!_ No! I don't... _damn_ it.” Gods, he hadn't really thought it through had he? How could he have started this without thinking about the _consequences_?! Oh, _right_ , because he never thought about _anything_ he did before he went ahead and bloody did it. That's why his and Edlin's life were in bloody shambles.

“He trusts yeh Lyndon, do yeh _know_ that?” Haedrig asked him in a low voice.

“Yes...” Lyndon _did_ know that didn't he? Jack hid his feelings from everyone, but still, he knew how much the hunter had changed for the better, especially in how he dealt with and acted around people.

“And I'm sure yeh have at least a _vague_ idea how long it took him to trust yeh lad? Especially... yeh know, being who yeh are.” Haedrig continued.

“Yes.” Lyndon answered quietly. “I do have _some_ idea.”

“Good. Yeh had better not forget it. Because if yeh hurt him that way, after everything he has _given_ and _done_ for us, I will not let yeh forget it, an' I'm sure I won' be the only one.” Haedrig finished, getting up to go back to leading their horse before it became too distracted in nibbling the clovers growing on the roadside.

“Thanks for the “talk” _Dad_.” Lyndon muttered, annoyed.

“ _I mean it!_ ” Haedrig roared, holding his hand out and back over his shoulder as if he intended to backhand him.

“ _Yes!_ ” Lyndon insisted, holding his hands up in surrender. “Akarat's _mercy_...” Haedrig grunted and seated himself in the rider's seat once more, clicking to their horse to get her face out of the plants and continue on.

Lyndon released a hard breath through his nose and hopped out of the caravan, running up ahead to see where the Demon Hunter had gone.

Damned, wretched, nosy _blacksmith_.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

After a few minutes of brisk walking, Lyndon crested the hill in the road and spotted the hunter about a hundred yards away, knelt before a large, brown (or was it black?) dog, scratching its ears vigorously.

"Finally got a _normal_ pet then, have you?" Lyndon said to the Demon Hunter, as he came up to him."Though that is a... rather _large_ dog." Lyndon muttered nervously, realizing just how _big_ the damned thing was, its back would come up to his ribs at _least_. As he approached, the great beast bared its teeth at him and growled. Jack glanced at Lyndon and scolded it with a pinch to the ear, it closed its mouth and looked back at the hunter expectantly.

"It is not a _dog_ , it is a dire wolf from up north. Give her your hand. She won't hurt you. " Jack advised him gently.

"Surely... not to give her to _eat_ right? I need my hands for... _important_ things." He asked nervously. He had never liked dogs and they had never liked _him_.

"Don't be such a scaredy-cat Lyndon, haven't you been to _Hell_?" Jack teased him, but with just the slightest note of irritation coloring his words.

Frowning, Lyndon held his hand out cautiously, the wolf sniffed it and then moved forward suddenly. Lyndon snatched his hand back with a slight sound of fear. How _embarrassing_.

" _Really_ Lyndon." Jack muttered, apparently amused by his fearfulness.

"Shut up! I've never met a nice dog before alright? They've _always_ been nasty!" He snapped at the hunter. It was easy for _him_ , every animal they ever tripped over always loved him for some unfathomable reason. Certainly not his "sunny" disposition.

"They would likely have been _less_ nasty if you hadn't always been stealing from their masters." Jack replied knowingly.

"Gods, can't you just get a _cat_ or something?" Lyndon moaned pathetically, ignoring the comment. “Why do they like _you_ so bloody much anyways? Aren't wolves and bats and weasels or whatnot _wild_ animals?” He never did like animals much, too scary, too dirty, and stole his _food_.

“Ferrets.” Jack corrected, then became thoughtful. “Years ago, Josen, my mentor, rescued a Druid from Scosglen from certain death on the borders of the Sharval Wilds. To repay him, this Druid taught Josen how to listen to beasts and he has taught all Demon Hunters these techniques ever since. Obviously I and the others will likely never be as skilled as a Druid is with conversing with animals, we are not born to it as they are, but we can still form... _alliances_ of sorts and gain a passable understanding of one another.” Jack explained to him, stroking the wolf's fur gently. “The Druid is also why we are able to enchant our arrows with the elements. Likely we would have not discovered such an ability without his aid. Mages are rarely found in the Western kingdoms and like to share their secrets even less.”

Hm. That _did_ explain a few things. “Maybe you can... I dunno, teach _me_ sometime? So that these flea bitten bastards will like me too, eh?” The thief asked with a grin.

“For the last time, they don't have _fleas_. And the Druid's methods require a significant amount of patience and concentration, both of which you seem to have in short supply.” Jack replied calmly, getting to his feet.

 _You have no bloody idea how much patience I can have_. Lyndon thought petulantly, sticking his tongue out at the hunter who merely rolled his eyes at him.

Lyndon found that he _was_ actually magically talented when he put his mind to it. He was getting pretty good at enchanting arrows. He was currently working on making ones that could stun with a bit of lightning and ones that would actually _freeze_ rather than just spit a few snowflakes and give whatever nasty thing he shot at a bad chill. He was already quite used to dipping his arrows in poison. There wasn't really much finesse or magical know-how to gathering poisonous plants and fungi, grinding them into a messy paste. He'd add a bit of oil so that all the nasty bits stuck together nicely, then rolled his arrow heads in it. He'd been doing that for years (it had mostly begun as an extra precaution, in case he had lousy aim and didn't hit anything vital).

He was beginning to get the hang of multiplying arrows as well. He could get three to fire at once on occasion. But it looked rather silly when compared to Jack's _thousands_. Well... try, try again he always said.

Improvement had been hard coming lately, since he could not seem to think of much else besides the Demon Hunter. He was really just incredibly attractive and that made him incredibly _distracting_. That and being so close to Westmarch brought back memories of the most lurid, indulgent summer of ribaldry in his entire life. He'd practically had every girl in the damned city after him by the end of it (but it was completely worth it! Mostly...). He wanted Jack almost constantly, but Lyndon vividly remembered nervous, shaking hands climbing up the length of his arms and knew that he needed to be patient with Jack or he would likely scare him away for good. The man was more skittish than... Well,  _him,_ trying to pet this bloody wolf.

He managed to get the bollocks to delicately rest his fingers on the thing's head, and when she made no move to snap at him -merely letting her tongue flop out of her mouth a few times and twitching her nostrils in interest- he buried his fingers in her fur, scratching her neck and shoulders gently. He marveled at the softness of the undercoat near the skin, it felt like down feathers. This wasn't _so_ bad, maybe he could grow to like this one-

The wolf suddenly bared her teeth again and pulled away, running to Jack's side, he only had a moment to feel an unexplainable, deep disappointment before Jack spoke, low and serious.

“Something's wrong.” He said, and left the road, entering the treeline, wolf at his heels. Lyndon followed quickly, immediately on high alert.

Jack grabbed the low hanging branch of the nearest climbable tree and hauled himself up, claw tipped boots making an easy thing out of climbing the Pine. Jack got halfway to the top and stopped, staring into the distance further down the road.

“What is it?” Lyndon called up to him, the wolf pacing and growling in agitation behind him.

“Westmarch. We cannot linger here, we have to go _now_.” Jack called, and made his descent in three quick drops.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Lorath Nahr made his way through the trees that ran parallel to the road so as to stay out of sight. He had nearly met his end at the hands of more than a few reapers and nightmarish creatures on his way out of the city. He would have plenty of personal accounts to write of now, and plenty of nightmares to accompany them. The young Horadrim had heard the stories of the Nephalem from Tyrael, had written them down in narrative form, studied them from every angle to such a degree that he felt as though he had been there himself. So when Tyrael had asked him to try to find the Nephalem out on the road to lead him inside the city, Lorath was certain he would have no trouble knowing him by sight. _Jack_ , his name was, a tall man, black of hair, black armor armed with two small crossbows, and eyes that burned like twin match flames. He was likely traveling with a slightly smaller in stature man named Lyndon, a rogue and a thief, brown of hair, had a mustache, wore a tan duster and carried a large crossbow. A middle aged, red-bearded blacksmith named Haedrig and his traveling forge caravan was also reputed to be with them.

Tyrael had told him all about every person who was involved in the events leading to the legendary defeat of the Prime Evil in the Silver City. Lorath thought he would know these individuals inside and out, but as he left the city alone, dodging reapers and spirits, confidence dwindled. He began to doubt. He wondered if he would recognize the hero of Bastion's Keep from only a description amongst the many, _many_ others that were fleeing the city with what belongings they could carry. Jack was just a _man_ after all. Nephalem did not look different, or so Tyrael had told him, perhaps he had built the hero up in his imagination more than he should have? Such tales of grandeur elicited equally grand descriptions.

But when the fledgling Horadrim finally laid eyes on him as he was coming up the empty overlook road toward the city gates, any fears over recognition fled him. There was no remaining doubt as to who he saw.

What Lorath saw was the most terrifying man he had ever seen. He charged forward like a predator scenting blood and laid waste to the seraphs and angry spirits that attacked him with punishing rounds of enchanted bolts. He snarled like a beast and moved so quickly he was slightly difficult to follow with the naked eye. There was even a wolf _with_ him, a wolf so large it could not have come from the gentle pine forests surrounding Westmarch. A northern beast, or even the descriptions of the legendary dire wolves from Scosglen that walked at the sides of Druids seemed a more accurate match. When the Demon Hunter approached him, for a moment Lorath forgot everything he had ever learned from Tyrael, forgot he was a Horadrim, a member of an ancient order of Mages and Wizards, dedicated to the destruction of the great demon lords. He forgot he was meant to be brave and became the nervous, useless man he had been in the Tomb of Rakkis, fleeing at Tyrael's word from Malthael's wrath. The man standing before him was more quietly intimidating than any demon he had ever before laid his eyes on, save perhaps whatever Malthael had been within the depths of Corvus. Could such a person possibly be what the tales say? Tyrael had told him about the goodness of the man's heart and his countless displays of altruism and valor, so he tried to focus on that instead.

“Are you... the Nephalem? Jack the Demon Hunter?” Lorath asked and the man's eyes bored into his own. _Gods_ , not match flames at all! They glowed with Hellfire! And the man _towered_ over him! He must have been over six feet tall at least.

“Yes.” His voice was like the smoke that drifted from burnt out villages and charnel houses set to the torch. Lorath was so transfixed that he almost didn't see the other man standing beside the Demon Hunter.

“And you're.... Lyndon?” He asked the man next to Jack. He _must_ be the thief, the description matched perfectly.

The smaller man with the mustache grinned at him and Lorath immediately felt much better, the fear passing. If anyone could smile standing next to... _that_ , then perhaps his fright was merely youthful foolishness after all.

“That's me.” Lyndon replied amiably.

Ah, he had a mission to fulfill here! “Tyrael asked me to lead you to him he said he's waiting inside-.” He began to explain.

“No.” The hunter interrupted him immediately and Lorath swallowed nervously. “N-no?”

“There are people dying down there.” Jack continued. “I have to act now. Do you see the caravan behind me? That is Haedrig, our blacksmith, please escort him to safety and tell Tyrael I will find him within the city. Lyndon and I will make an opening for you to enter Westmarch safely. Go _now!_ ”

“It will be done as you say.”

Tyrael would likely be displeased, but Lorath dared not disobey the Demon Hunter. He ran to the Blacksmith's caravan and grabbed the horse's bridle, the beast's eyes rolled, revealing edges of white in its fear, but it followed when he pulled. He lead it down the road and into city, running to keep up with the animal's frantic canter, while The Demon Hunter and Lyndon killed more of the spirits, reapers and undead that came from all sides at them without hesitation. Despite the terror of the situation, it was heartening to watch the two of them, working together so seamlessly, killing with skill and precision. They needed seasoned professionals if they were going to come out of this alive.

Haedrig stood atop the caravan's driver's seat and swung a massive smithing hammer at the shambling corpses that attempted to grab onto the sides of the wagon, sending thick sprays of black, rotted blood when his hammer hit home. "Back in yer graves!" Haedrig roared triumphantly, smashing the heads of two corpses at once. Lorath had truly never seen anything like it.

The Horadrim managed to get over the bridge and inside the gates with Haedrig and the caravan, but the wolf gates of Westmarch were suddenly sealed shut behind them by a powerful magic. He had no doubt the Demon Hunter would find an alternate route within and that he'd be seeing him again very soon.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

“ _Shit!_ ” The Hunter cursed and kicked at the door in an outburst of rage. Lyndon sighed. Jack rarely swore. He was in quite a state. The thief hoped that the Demon Hunter would not get nasty with _him_ as he often did when he was angry.

“May I recommend... the sewers?” The thief offered lazily, not looking forward to a jaunt through another filth ridden tunnel (and it was _always_ the sewers wasn't it?). He had no idea what was happening in Westmarch, but judging by Jack's grim attitude and what they had seen on the roads and bridge, it certainly couldn't be _good_.

Jack was distraught already, his desperate cry of ' _NO_!' when thy had witnessed fleeing villagers, pouring out of the gates in a panic to get away from whatever was chasing them, suddenly drained of life and soul in an instant before their very eyes, then transformed into ethereal skeletons, lit by a cold blue light and Hell bent on murdering them, was more than enough evidence for him to determine that the Demon Hunter was less than alright. This was shaping up to be another great big bloody mess wasn't it?

He sighed, “People are dying everywhere and everything is terrible, time for another _adventure_ eh?” Lyndon muttered sarcastically. “Westmarch is likely a mess in there and I could use a stiff drink... or _five_.” He finished, ducking his head slightly at the sewer entrance and following Jack into a rather disturbingly corpse laden tunnel.

Jack growled like the wolf at his heels, “Can't you wait until we're _done_?!” He responded angrily.

Lyndon groaned in misery, “But you always _take_ so long!” He whined.

Jack grit his teeth and pressed on ahead of him, taking out his rage on a groaning, living torso that grabbed at him and tried to take a bite out of his calf. It exploded into fermented fragments of blood and bone.

Eugh! Make that _twelve_ drinks.

 


	2. Tulipwood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If only my professors knew how I would apply my wealth of knowledge acquired from the Dendrology course...

_“No matter how much suffering you went through,_  
_you never wanted to let go of those memories.”_  
― Haruki Murakami

 

 

It had been many years since Jack had last been to Westmarch, he had been a boy then, seven years and two months old his memory told him, and he had gone to the great western capital with his father while his mother and infant sister had stayed at home. His father, a sawyer, had come upon several Tulipwood trees deep in the forest and had cut a few of them to try to sell the valuable wood in the city. He remembered holding on tightly to his father's coat as they'd walked through the expansive, cobbled streets. He had never before seen so many people all in one place and was a bit frightened of getting separated and lost.

“Liriodendron tulipifera.” His father had said to him, as he led their pony that pulled the cart of wood. “It is also called 'poplar' by some, but around here most folks will call it _Westmarch_ Tulipwood. Do you know _why_ it is so valuable Jack?” His father had asked him, he was a man who never spoke to his children as if they were children, always treating them as equals with minds that could learn and understand and absorb information at a breakneck pace. That was one thing he had loved about his father, among other things.

“Why is it so valuable dad?” Jack had asked, forgetting his fear at the warm, familiar tone of his father's voice, and suddenly full of the bright eyed curiosity that only a child could have.

“It is comparable to the White Pine in color and texture, you remember the White Pines we discussed son? Called _King's_ Pines by the capital, but I don't believe that any King should have such a claim over what grows in the soil.” His father cut down trees for a living, but he loved them dearly as well, as he loved all things that came from the forest and nature, and he had instilled this love in his children. He could talk for hours about trees and Jack could listen for just as long.

“I remember! They can grow to be two hundred and fifty feet tall!” Jack had exclaimed. His father had laughed heartily at that.

“Yes they can, that is the _tallest_ ever recorded, but only if our good King stops demanding them as masts for his royal ships. Remember the arrow mark on many of the taller ones near home? That is the King's Broad Arrow and no sawyer is allowed to cut them down but for when he is asked by the Kingdom. Personally, I think it looks a bit less like an _arrow_ and more like the footprint of a great big _turkey_ , but you didn't hear that from _me_.” His father had added with a wink and a grin while Jack had giggled behind his hands.

“But what I was getting to is that Tulipwood is so valuable because, while it is _similar_ to the wood of the White Pine it is not as brittle, it can hold a precise cut much better, and this is absolutely essential to the craftsmanship of an organ. Do you remember what an _organ_ is Jack?”

“An instrument, like a piano but there are... pipes?” Jack had answered, not quite sure if he had remembered the organ correctly. Had it been an _organ_ like what was found in an animal and a man instead?

“Very good my boy, you are _quite_ smart.” His father had praised, and Jack beamed at him in delight. “Those pipes you so wisely mentioned require perfectly cut wood to seal around them in order to produce the best sound possible from the instrument. And who do you think would have use for such a _large_ volume of Tulipwood for an organ Jack?”

“I dunno dad, who?” He had asked curiously, looking up at his father. Blonde like his sister, bearded, taller than anyone he knew and the strongest person in the whole _world_. Or so he had thought at the time.

“Why the Zakarum Cathedral of course! No one else could need so much Tulipwood for such a large instrument other than our good _church_. And no one else has so much _bloody_ _gold_ to pay us in exchange for our most valuable of wares in order to allow us to continue putting food in our bellies. Don't tell your dear mum that I swore or I'll never hear the end of it.” His father told him while Jack had erupted into peals of laughter.

“I promise!” He had said between giggles.

“That's a good boy. I did not cut down all the Tulipwood trees Jack, do you remember why?” His father continued as they passed shop front after shop front and Jack's eyes could hardly take in the sight of it all at once.

“Uhm, because then they'd all be gone and they can't grow back if there aren't any others there to make seeds.” Jack fumbled, hoping that he was right.

“Right you are Jack. You have your mother's good _brains_ as well as her ebony hair. If only I could be so lucky.” His father had joked and Jack had laughed again. “But as I was saying, I did not cut them all down, because by springtime you will see the _other_ value of the Tulipwood tree, and how it has earned such a pretty name. When the bees wake up again they will make honey from the flowers, not as popular a honey for just _eating_ mind you, but quite valued by _bakers_ , and I think if I don't get stung too badly we can get enough of it to make another visit to our fair capital.”

“I'd like that!” Jack said.

“As would I. Now I think we should get a more than fair price for our bundle of wood and there should be more than enough leftover to get your mum and your baby sister something nice eh? Would you help me pick out something?”

“Yes!” And his father had laughed and he had smiled and they had spent two days in the city before they went home again. The gift they had picked out for his mother had been a carving of a woodcock, and it had sat on the mantle above the hearth for years until there was nothing there for it to sit on. It was one of the happiest memories he had of his life and his father and he had sealed it away carefully in the vault of his heart and guarded it ferociously, as he did with every other grain of happiness from those carefree times that felt like centuries ago.

A precious memory, before everything had fallen apart and he had been reborn from blood and water as something else entirely.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Jack and Lyndon moved through the sewers with a quickness that belied the rough terrain of corpses the made up much of what they tread upon. He tuned out Lyndon's complaining as he often did when he had more important things to focus on. Much, _much_ more important than his frustrating attraction to the man at any rate. Entering a storehouse connected to the sewers, they had come upon some survivors that warned them not to go out into the streets, a warning Jack fully intended to ignore, and having no idea where was _safe_ within the city, Jack had left the survivors there with the promise of coming back for them when he had found a more suitable place, if one even existed at all. He hoped that Haedrig had made it inside alright with the robed man they had met, a friend of Tyrael's apparently. He supposed he should not have blindly trusted him, but he had seemed harmless enough.

“This is worse than it appears isn't it? She said that those reaper things were everywhere! Does she mean everywhere in _Westmarch_ or the entire bloody _World?_ ” Lyndon had asked him anxiously when they left the storeroom and ventured into the streets.

“I don't know.” He answered reflexively. Of course he didn't know. Neither of them had even the slightest idea of what was actually going on here, they only knew that it was bad. The thought however was disturbing, but there wasn't time to ponder it now.

Kormac and Eirena came to mind, he wondered where they could possibly be, and was deeply concerned about what might have happened to them. Had they already arrived in Westmarch before he and Lyndon had? Had they met up with the archangel and found somewhere safe already? Or perhaps... the unthinkable had happened and they had been ripped of life and transformed into soulless glowing corpses that he would have to put his bolts into? Could he even _do_ such a thing?

Was _Lyndon_ even safe here with him?

It was best not to think about it at all. He would make the choice if it came. No sense worrying about it now, he would protect the thief as best he could, and Lyndon had become much more skilled in their time spent together anyways. The Demon Hunter worried _less_ for him-

... but he _did_ still worry. Someone like Lyndon didn't just become responsible and attentive overnight afterall.

Jack did not know what he expected to see when he finally entered the streets of Westmarch, his memories of the place were bright and precious. When he finally witnessed what the city had become, he fought to keep the good memories of what it had been from slipping through his fingers like water through a sieve.

Empty. Dark. _Dead_.

“Gods, it's so quiet.” Lyndon muttered, “It's strange to not to see people milling about everywhere, even late.” He continued in a low voice. The wolf whined behind Lyndon's legs but was largely silent. As he needed her to be.

“Yes.” Jack said, it was all he _could_ say. The city was as quiet as a tomb and almost entirely devoid of life. The only sound was the soft fall of rain on the streets and the thunder from the odd, lingering storm. They ran for some time, hoping to find something, but there was nothing but horror after horror. Corpses -even those picked at by rats and carrion birds- rose as they passed and tried to kill them. _Endless_ numbers of corpses. Gods, was the whole city dead? It was a mockery of everything he still held dear and he would not stand for this desecration and defilement of his beloved homeland.

Lyndon was unusually quiet, and the hunter knew he was afraid, but he had nothing he could say that would bring the man any comfort. Soothing fears was not one of his talents.

They rounded a corner and came upon some soldiers standing ready in the streets behind flimsy barricades made of turned over vendor's tables, the Knights of Westmarch, he recognized their armor immediately, but before they could even speak to them that strange blue light appeared again and stole their lives away, leaving them as the same murderous blue corpses they had seen before. The transformation was nearly instantaneous. _How was this_ _happening_?! Jack had thought desperately, even as he struck them down with relative ease, the wolf ripping into them with her powerful jaws and Lyndon's enchanted shots killing his fair share. He chanced a glance back at the thief, Lyndon was quite pale, his eyes pinched with anxiety, but he seemed alright for the moment.

“Lyndon, stay close to me.” Jack said quickly as they continued down the winding streets, it was much more dangerous to be out in the streets than he could have ever imagined. He thought of where Tyrael might be. The Zakarum Cathedral loomed in his vision at the center of the city, the tallest structure in Westmarch, it was the only place that made sense to him. He headed for it, guided more by his childhood memories than by the beacon of the cathedral steeple that towered over the entire capital like a spear thrust deep into the ground.

They moved more carefully now, having no idea when or where that strange blue light would appear again. Hiding in the shadows was familiar territory for both of them and Jack was grateful for once that Lyndon had spent so many long years as a thief. It made him excellent at stealth movement. He was nearly as quiet as a Demon Hunter, but only when he could keep his mouth closed, which he was thankfully doing now. Jack was almost relieved that there was so much going on that required his attention, any distraction that kept him from examining his feelings for the scoundrel was a good one in his opinion.

The sudden wave of self hatred and revulsion at such a wretched and selfish thought was suffocating and intense. Was he really so bad off that he preferred to deal with the death of countless numbers of innocent people and attacking undead rather than speak to his closest friend? Truly, there was something horribly _wrong_ with him to even think it. His mood darkened considerably afterward.

“Tyrael's been around a long time, I'm sure he's seen worse than this.” Lyndon said quietly, whether he was trying to reassure Jack or himself, the Demon Hunter could not be sure. Jack privately doubted that there was anything that occurred on Sanctuary's soil that was worse than this _slaughter_ of such a large city, but did not say as much.

There was a woman's voice up ahead and Jack picked up his pace to find her, there was fear in her tone and he assumed she needed help. They saw her ahead, at the bottom of a long stone staircase, and a few other villagers with her.

“I think we've lost her, let's keep going.” The woman said fearfully in between pants, looking around in terror, but she had not the time to run before an enormous... _thing_ , rose from the ground. It looked like an _angel_ if the Demon Hunter could liken its description to anything, but there was something _wrong_. It was female, and it _did_ look similar to Auriel, the only female angel he had ever seen, but there were no wings of light, just that awful blue glow that infested every walking corpse they had come across. Could this vile creature possibly be the _source_? But it was impossible, angels did not do such awful things.

Apparently, he was wrong.

“ _Those with demon blood... must die!_ ” It spoke, echoing voice ethereal and beautiful like the angel's were, but then that cursed light leaped from her body and closed in on those poor frightened people and ripped the souls from them in one smooth strike. The woman had barely enough time to scream a choked “No!”, before she was dead, and then rose again as something that was anything _but_ human.

A roar of rage, and Jack was firing at the angel, but she had gone as quickly as she had appeared, melted away through the walls like a ghost, leaving more corpses for them to kill in her absence.

“Is she _mad_?” He exclaimed desperately, “They were _innocent_!” What could possibly have that kind of power to kill? Why were they _doing_ this?

“Define _innocent_.” Lyndon muttered darkly behind him. Jack spun to face him, shocked that he would ever say such a terrible thing, but paused as the thief stifled a hiccup.

“Are... are you _drunk_?” Jack asked in stunned disbelief.

The thief revealed a large brown bottle, “Not as much as I'd like t' be, how the Hell _else_ am I supposed t'get through this?” He barked, though without his usual bite and a slight slur.

“With your _wits_ intact you damned _fool._ How much have you had? You look like you're going to be _sick_!” Jack shouted hoarsely at him, he could not believe him, how _stupid_ could he be? The wolf whined piteously, no doubt upset by the angry tone of their voices but Jack could not help but be utterly furious with him.

“I have too much respect for th' drink t'do _that_.” Lyndon said evenly, taking another swig. Jack ripped it out of his hands and hurled it down the street where it shattered unceremoniously on the stone cobbled ground some yards away.

“ _Hey!_ ” Lyndon yelled, looking at him as though he'd gone mad, “That was Westmarch's _famous_ brown ale, d'you have any idea how ' _spensive_ that is?!” He exclaimed.

“I don't _care_! And you didn't even _pay_ for it!” Jack growled acidly. Pathetic as it was, it was the first real fight they'd had in some time. Apparently they had been due for another argument since they had both been out of sorts for days since Holbrook. Jack had desperately tried not to think about it because he needed to keep his focus. It should have felt good to scold the thief for being a careless idiot, but he derived no relief from his rage and anxiety by yelling at him.

“If I _had_ bought it... it _would_ have been!” Lyndon muttered angrily, sulking.

“Lyndon, you never cease to _amaze_ me. If you get sick I will _not_ help you.” Jack finished furiously.

“Well, 'm glad I c'n keep wonder _alive_ in you.” Lyndon shot back sarcastically as the Demon Hunter started moving again.

“ _Don't_ talk to me! And try not to _die_.” Jack snapped at him, so angry he could barely stand to look at him.

They didn't talk to each other for the rest of the way to the Cathedral.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

When they reached the entrance, they were met by more Knights of Westmarch and a man who claimed to be their general. The Knights were engaged in fighting more of the ghostly creatures they had encountered on their way into the city. Jack made quick work of them, and Lyndon, the hunter noted, despite being drunk, seemed to be doing as well as he _always_ did. His tolerance for the drink must have been astronomical. This knowledge only served to annoy him further. Wretched, drunk, _bastard_.

A soldier who looked to be in command seemed to recognize the symbols on his armor, “Are you a Demon Hunter? I am General Torion of the Knights of Westmarch, there are survivors still inside the-”

He was cut off by the reappearance of the dark female angel again, likely the same one they had seen in the streets earlier, she passed right through the walls and entered the sealed room.

“The survivors!” The General shouted, and they all moved at once to force the locked doors open, but there was a great roaring noise and a rush of air that imploded inwards, shattering the glass and sucking the doors right off their hinges. Rushing inside, they were met with the dark angel creating some sort of dark, writhing orb that had begun to _pull_ on them.

“Akarat's _bane_! This is worse than I feared!” General Torion shouted as he clung to a pillar to avoid being drawn toward the angel's black orb.

The Demon Hunter could feel that awful black nothingness working to pull him in, and he knew that if that happened... he would be as dead as the corpses that already filled the church pews. He dug his clawed boots firmly into the wooden floor and fired at her, and _this_ time, his arrows found their target.

“ _Nephalem_!” She screamed, “Your soul will be _mine_! Malthael demands it!” She called, wielding a heavy shimmering scythe with graceful sweeping motions.

Then Lyndon was at his side, bracing himself against the hunter's back to avoid being pulled into the blackness and firing powerful shots at her, “ _Just you try it, you blue bint!_ ” The scoundrel roared, and Jack almost smiled, forgetting he'd ever been cross with him, and together, they sent her swiftly screaming to _Hell_.

As she died, the orb dissolved with her and the remaining people sighed with relief when their lives were suddenly no longer in danger.

Lyndon sighed, “Ugh, not good... not good _at all_.” He commented, more to himself than to the Demon Hunter.

He heard a voice, “Jack!” It was Tyrael, and the strange robed man from before followed close behind him, did that mean that Haedrig was alright?

The hunter reached the archangel in quick strides, “Tyrael, she said _Malthael_. Why is Malthael attacking the city?”

“He believes, now that the demon lords are gone, that this is the perfect time to end the eternal conflict. He feeds on death and becomes stronger with every soul he takes.” Tyrael explained calmly. Jack felt his blood boil with rage, “I will _not_ stand for this. _Where is Malthael_?” He spat viciously.

Tyrael sighed and closed his eyes a moment. He didn't look like his usual self, perhaps he had been wounded? He seemed to be in pain of some kind. “I know only that he is not in Westmarch. He could have taken the Black Soulstone _anywhere_ in creation.” Jack grit his teeth in rage and frustration.

“Why would _he_ want it?” Lyndon asked from the hunter's side.

“Is there any way of knowing?” Jack added quickly.

“There... _may_ be. A sliver broke off from the stone, perhaps by studying it we can divine his plans.” Tyrael offered hesitantly. It was a start at least.

“Then do what you can. _We_ will save this city from Malthael's forces.” Jack promised evenly, and made to follow the others out of the church.

Before he could leave the altar, almost by chance, his eyes fell upon the shattered remains of a great organ, bathed in the red light shining through the stained glass windows. The very organ crafted from his father's cut Tulipwood. He stared at it blankly, wondering how he could have forgotten that the organ would have still been here, even though he thought all traces of his lost family existed only in his memories. The light on the stained wood resembled blood. He remembered his father on that night, standing firm in determination as the demons burst in and began to overrun their home, his father had screamed then for him and his sister to run as he tried in vain to protect his mother.

Even as the demons began to rip into his father, he still fought on, bleeding endlessly before them as he and his sister watched, frozen with fear and horror. He swung at the creatures with his axe, sending arcs of blood surging forth from the deep wounds in his neck. Severed arteries Jack now knew, as he could examine the memories at any time he wished, from any angle in exact detail, so burned into his mind's eye they were. The demons had already begun to devour his mother's lifeless body, but still his father hacked at them. It was not until he had been overwhelmed and fallen beneath the wretched creatures that Jack had been able to pull his sister away with him, and run.

“ _Jack, are you alright_?” Lyndon whispered anxiously near his ear. Jack blinked, startled, and realized that they were alone in the cathedral. Lyndon was holding his fingers tightly and he could feel his hands shaking in the thief’s grip. When had that started? More importantly, when would it _stop_?

Jack looked at Lyndon then, not in a glance, but _fully_ , for the first time since they had been in the inn at Holbrook. The scoundrel stared earnestly back at him, concern in his dark brown eyes. He remembered then why he had asked Lyndon to come with him: in all his travels he had not found a better friend.

Jack could only nod quickly at him, feeling his cheeks burn a bit. He pulled his hand away from the thief's fingers, clenching his hands into fists in a bid to quell the trembling as he exited the cathedral to meet Tyrael outside.

 

 


	3. Promises to Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quartet is made whole again, Lyndon has a hard choice to make.

_“He who rides the middle of the road gets hit from both ends.”_  
― Loni Bergqvist

 

Lyndon followed the hunter outside, beginning to get deeply concerned for him. The pleasant buzz from the alcohol had diminished steadily over the last hour or so and the cathedral, full of the freshly deceased, with a nasty lady angel reaper thing trying to murder everyone with a soul sucking ball of oily _death_ had really just killed any good feelings he'd obtained through that now smashed bottle of ale.

 _That_ , and she seemed to have targeted Jack specifically, which was more of a cause for concern than it used to be.

Well, looks like he wasn't going to be able to _drink_ his way through this one. Guess he'd have to actually do something after all. How did these things always happen to them? And here he thought they'd be done with this nonsense after the Prime Evil was killed. Were things like this going to just keep happening over and over again? Would Jack ever escape being _desperately_ needed by hundreds of people? The thought was disheartening and Lyndon suddenly wished that someone _else_ would clean up this blasted mess, and that he and Jack were somewhere... _else._

Preferably somewhere else, and _naked_.

Ah, _there_. Now he felt a bit better. Except not _really_ , because Jack was very likely going to get more distant as their little quest wore on and then the thief would be back to square one. It wasn't that he wasn't _concerned_ with what was going on... it was just that it was so damned hard to focus with the Demon Hunter right bloody _there_.

“What exactly was that Death Maiden trying to do in the cathedral?” Jack asked the General. Death Maiden... a rather _pretty_ name for such a horrible thing, but better than anything he'd come up with. General Torion seemed to have some vague knowledge of what was going on in his own city after all and Jack was never one to wait for an explanation to be offered to him. Not wanting to irritate the agitated Demon Hunter any more than he already had, Lyndon paid attention to what was said so he wouldn't be forced to ask questions later on.

“She was creating an orb that drains the life and soul from the living and turns them into servants of Malthael.” General Torion explained darkly.

“That must be that strange blue light we saw... _converting_ people.” Jack said to Lyndon, who nodded at him. At least Jack's hands had stopped shaking, that was good, but the thief wondered what had upset him so much in the _first_ place. He'd been staring at that pile of smashed wood like he was watching people _die_ on it. The look on his face had been so tortured, so miserable, that Lyndon had wanted to do something to try to comfort him immediately. The man appeared to _already_ be at his wits end and they'd only been in the city a few hours.

He had not been kidding when he said he thought he was losing himself. Lyndon would try to look after him as best he could.

“Why haven't you received any aid from Bramwell or Kingsport, are they not loyal to the crown?” Jack asked earnestly. That was right, they _were_ awfully close to Kingsport weren't they? It was just a quick trip down the river or a few days by horse... Lyndon had been thinking about his brother more and more, he'd spent too long in that wretched cell and the rogue yearned to go there and free him. If only to see him one last time before Edlin wanted nothing more to do with him.

“No city is safe, we've gotten reports of this occurring in the major capitols all over the world.” The general explained quickly.

The Demon Hunter let out a breath, “I did not know. That is... _disturbing_.” He murmured. He had lost some color in his face at the news and Lyndon knew that _something_ was wrong. Jack did not have a long enough break to mentally recover from what he'd done in the High Heavens, and _Hell_ , and the bloody _desert_. Two months _flew_ by when you were hunting bounties and acquiring gold. Jack had seen a lot of carnage in his young life, but Nephalem or not, that much death and slaughter would have at least some negative effect, if the frequent nightmares were any indication. Perhaps he hadn't even fully recovered _physically_ , but the thief could not be entirely sure. Lyndon was beginning to think he wasn't going to be able to handle it this time. It was suddenly too much for one person to deal with. If this was happening all over the bleeding world than what was he supposed to even _do_ -

Wait.

“What did you just say? _Kingsport_?” Lyndon cut in suddenly. Jack snapped his head around to look at him, looking suddenly, _impossibly_ worse than before. Lyndon stared at him at him, then quickly glanced away. His blood was going cold in his veins and the alcohol he'd drank, along with his lunch earlier was turning to so much rot in his stomach.

“Yes. Every major city across the world, though Westmarch _is_ the worst hit.” Torion said a bit hesitantly, perhaps observing how the information had affected him. The knowledge that Westmarch was taking the brunt of the attacks didn't help in the slightest, he still had family in Kingsport, even if they didn't want to see him, he still felt the need to protect them for _Edlin_.

Gods, his _brother_.

But he couldn't deal with it _now_ could he? And all thoughts of the Demon Hunter suddenly took a backseat in lieu of saving his brother's life.

He was defenseless in a bloody prison! Perhaps he was going to be sick after all.

“Jack! Lyndon!” A bubbly yell from the grassy church courtyard interrupted them, a sound of happiness they had not heard the like of for days, that was getting steadily closer.

“Oh! Hullo Eirena! So lovely to see you!” Lyndon greeted the enchantress as she came up to them with as much cheer as he could muster despite how anxious and rotten he felt. “And... I suppose Kormac.” He added lazily with an air of boredom. The Templar trailed behind Eirena, he looked glad to see them as well, despite the situation.

“ _Lyndon_.” Kormac greeted simply with the barest nod of his head and a faint frown of irritation. He could hear Jack's annoyed sigh from behind him. Lyndon smiled.

Surprisingly, Eirena grinned up at the scoundrel and embraced him warmly. That he did _not_ expect. He froze a moment, so shocked that he almost didn’t return the hug, but managed to with only a slight delay. It was almost like she had really _missed_ him, he wondered when she had started to care. Even though it was unexpected... the embrace was comforting. It was as if she _knew_ he was upset. Feeling better, he grinned wickedly over her shoulder at the Templar who was steadily turning red in the face with rage. Lyndon hadn't forgotten the rude things Kormac had said about him in the letter he'd read (originally meant for only Jack to read). This seemed a most _delicious_ revenge.

“Westmarch is a disaster and yet you still manage to look so _pretty_ , how _do_ you do it?” Lyndon asked Eirena wistfully, giving Kormac a cheeky wink as she stepped back. He watched Kormac mouth the words ' _I will kill you_ ,' and gave the Templar his best devilish smile.

Eirena sighed, exasperated already, “I focus on the task at hand, and I am immune to _flattery_.” She answered curtly, and turned to the Demon Hunter who had been watching their little exchange placidly.“Too bad. Flattery is one of my _specialties_.” Lyndon added slyly.

“It is wonderful to see you Jack.” Eirena said happily, giving the Demon Hunter a hug as well. Lyndon was pleased to see that he accepted the contact more easily then he used to. He didn't tense up as much. Lyndon felt that he was likely responsible for bringing about this pleasant change. Even still the friendly embrace ended faster than his did. Eirena was well aware of his aversion to contact of any kind.

“Good to see you as well Eirena, though I wish the circumstances were better.” Jack answered in that soft voice of his that he reserved for her. “I'm glad you're alright. I was worried.” He seemed to have calmed significantly.

Kormac shook the hunter's hand and Jack smirked at him. “It will be good to fight with you again.” The Templar shouted happily. “Yes.” Jack replied simply. “It's good to see you too.”

=+=+=+=+=+=

The four of them headed toward the courtyard. It wasn't a pretty sight.

There were at least forty or so people scattered about the square, grassy space, not counting the Knights of Westmarch and themselves, and the despair on their faces was evident. Lyndon sighed, it was Bastion's Keep all over again.

Lyndon spotted Haedrig, speaking with a few people, and waved at him. The smith smiled and waved back. Lyndon felt a little better. He'd made it inside alright at least.

Eirena and Kormac were telling the Demon Hunter the things they'd done after he and Jack had left them in Caldeum. Lyndon was only half listening, consumed with thoughts of his brother. His eyes suddenly lit upon something that seemed out of place, a strange caravan parked on the grass. He left them and wandered over to examine it more closely. It was lovingly decorated with purple and gold canvas and there were scattered jars everywhere, filled with... whatever people with _dream catchers_ kept in jars he supposed. He eyed the pretty lantern lights and tapestries made with spun gold, there was even a splendid carpet laid out.

“Who lives here?” Lyndon asked himself absently. He didn't expect an answer but a woman spoke up.

“There was a woman there, a Vecin Mystic or so she claimed.” Lyndon recognized her as the pretty woman they had seen in the storeroom when they'd first entered the city. Emma? No. Emily. And Victor with her. “But we haven't seen her for some time.” Lyndon nodded absently, he had really stopped listening as soon as she spoke, he didn't care.

“Uhm, thank you. You and the man who saved Bastion's Keep, we thought we would die in that storehouse. You made it possible for us to escape.” She muttered shyly. Normally, Lyndon would be all over an opportunity such as this in a heartbeat, but lately he hadn't been feeling up to his old ways. He just nodded and smiled at her, “Happy to help.”

She went back to her friend and Lyndon watched Jack's brown bat wheeling around the lantern lights, swooping for moths or bugs or whatnot.

He had a choice to make.

He came over to the Demon Hunter who was engaged in an apparently frustrating conversation with Shen about how the old jeweler knew to find them in Westmarch. The hunter seemed deeply annoyed while Shen was cheerful as always.

“We need to talk.” He said seriously, cutting them both off. Jack nodded and excused himself, following the thief past the gates and deeper into the unoccupied part of the cathedral.

They stood there in the dark and Lyndon could see the hunter's eyes catching the light from the courtyard like a cat's would. “What's the matter?” Jack asked him, and was it his imagination or was he using that soft ' _Eirena_ voice' for him now too?

Lyndon sighed, “There's... no easy way for me to say this, but I have to go... and I won't be returning.” He explained, staring at the ground. This was the last thing he wanted to do, but family took priority.

Jack huffed, “Do you really think I'll let you get away with that now? After...” He fell silent. Then recognition dawned on his face. “This is about your brother isn't it.” He stated quietly.

“Yes, what did you _think_ it was about?” Lyndon asked, smiling slightly. The hunter didn't say anything more, so Lyndon continued. “He's locked in a dungeon with no way to defend himself! You heard what that general said! Every major city is under attack! I can't _leave_ him there!” Lyndon whispered hoarsely, struggling to keep his voice down.

“Lyndon...” Jack began quietly, looking away, then back again. “I promised you I would help you free your brother and I intend to keep my promise, but you won't make it to Kingsport if Westmarch is overrun. I can't let you go on your own.” Jack argued, voice soft. Lyndon expected him to say as much, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to go if Jack really wanted to keep him here. At least Jack wasn't _angry_ at him for saying he was going to leave, he just seemed... sad.

But Lyndon could not make any promises. He never could.

“Alright, I'll stay for as long as I can, but only because I know how much you _need_ me.” He added with a smile, then had a thought. “Are you going to tell me what upset you so much in the altar room?”

Jack immediately got that nervous look, and stared at the thief like he had six heads.

Lyndon sighed, “Oh come off it, we're supposed to be _friends_ , remember when I said you could still _tell_ me things?” The thief wheedled, annoyed.

Jack nodded and held the back of a shaky hand to his mouth a moment. And then in quiet stops and starts, told Lyndon about his father, his first visit to Westmarch and how his father and mother had died. Lyndon listened to him, not interrupting even once, and had just enough presence of mind to think that this might have even been a bad distraction, if the hunter had kept it in, a bad memory like that, so close to the surface, could cause loss of concentration.

Akarat's mercy, no wonder he had such vicious dreams.

By the end of it, Jack's face was ashen and he looked slightly ill, but Lyndon held his hand carefully, dragging his fingers over the palm, until Jack was able to catch his breath. Then released him.

“Do you feel better?” Lyndon asked simply.

The hunter took a deep breath, “I... Yes.” He answered weakly.

“Good.”

They were so close together, it was an easy thing to lean in and steal a kiss. A kiss that deepened quickly, escalating to tongues and clutching hands and desperate clicking teeth. Lyndon groaned when he finally got a slight moan out of the taller man. A victory. Oh gods, _please_ it's been days, please, _please_ let no one interrupt-

“Jack!” Eirena in the courtyard.

_Damndamndamndamndamn-_

And the hunter was away from him and running towards Eirena who was beckoning to him frantically, faster than a gust of wind. Lyndon waited a few minutes to allow his blood to calm, then followed.

It was amusing at least, to see the Demon Hunter in better light, being led by Eirena, slightly flustered with a flush on his cheeks and kiss swollen lips. He doubted anyone would _notice_ , but it was funny to see him so self consciously glancing at Lyndon, as if daring him to say something.

“Jack, the shard is changing!” Tyrael said suddenly from where he was standing near the piece of that damned rock, and they hurriedly crowded around it. The Demon Hunter stared intently as the colors and lights moved within it then suddenly, the damn thing _spoke_!

“ _Deeeeaaaaatttttthhhhhhh..._ ” It whispered in a voice that sounded like wind passing through the door of a tomb. Lyndon blinked and stared at it.

“Uhm... okay _great_. What else can it do?” He asked dryly.

“I hope I will find out.” Tyrael muttered. “I recognize the voice...it is Malthael.. or at least a shade of him.”

“Hunter. Urgent news.” General Torion interrupted them and was waving Jack back over to him, gods would their fun _never_ cease? Things just kept happening.

“That orb the Death Maiden was trying to make can transform hundreds of people every hour, and my soldiers report two more of them are out in the city as we speak.” Torion explained quickly, frazzled and anxious. As soon as he'd said it, Jack began to seethe and pace and fidget, as he often did when he _desperately_ felt he needed to be doing something.

“Soul crucibles.” Tyrael offered. “With two of them, Malthael has an endless supply of soldiers.” He finished gravely.

“Until I destroy them. Then he will have _none_.” Jack spat dangerously.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapter. I felt it ended in a good spot. Chapter length will vary I expect, but if they're short that means I can get them up a little faster. :)


	4. Slip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack's grip on his careful control slips, and we meet another witch.
> 
> Warning: Semi-graphic to graphic descriptions of horror.
> 
> A longer chapter this time. :)
> 
> Note: lots of game dialogue was used.

_Three witches you shall meet,_  
_upon the path to your fate._  
_The first will love you, the second will deceive you,_  
_and the third will show you the way._  
  
_Draw back your arrow and let it fly,_  
_May your aim be straight and true,_  
_Remember all that you have been told,_  
_And there might be some hope for you,_  
  
_Three witches you shall meet,_  
_along the road to your fate._  
_The first is twilight, the second is night,_  
_and the third is the coming of day._  
― _Tres Brujas_ , The Sword _  
_

 

The storm did not ebb, instead it strengthened, and rain dripped into his eyes from the edge of his hood when he looked up to observe the sky, flashing between carefully strung ropes of laundry. Clothing that would likely never be brought in from the elements again. Lightning spread over the heavy clouds like orange, grasping fingers, and thunder boomed softly in the distance. A late Harvest storm. Not _impossible_ , but this storm was not natural, it was a tempest brought on by the corrupting presence of evil.

They moved carefully through the empty roads and alleys again, avoiding the soft light of lanterns that hung from street posts. With four instead of two, not including the wolf, Jack's concentration was divided, his awareness enlarged to encompass his companions. That life taking, blue light struck at seemingly random times and he could not bear the thought of any of his friends being lost in such a way.

Especially...

No. Think of something else.

With every blue skeleton slain, the blue light would leave and whisk away into the sky in the direction they were headed in.

“The souls... I feel as though they are not being freed when we kill the undead... Is Malthael taking them back to him?” Eirena asked warily.

“The Soul Crucibles.” Jack muttered. Once those crucibles were destroyed, the reaping would theoretically stop. He would make certain of it. Even still, once the thought was planted there, they could take no joy in the killings, saving no one but themselves, it was only to clear the way to the real task. The souls wouldn't be free until Malthael was destroyed, his bones dust on the wind.

It was maddening to turn corner after corner and watch the Knights and the innocent city residents being converted before their eyes over and over. It was almost as though it was being done this way to taunt them. Killing the former angel couldn't come soon _enough_.

“How many poor bastards woke up here thinking it would be just another boring day?” Lyndon commented absently, as was his habit. “Oh and Jack?” Lyndon muttered a bit quieter so Kormac and Eirena couldn't hear. The Demon Hunter tensed a little at his sudden close proximity. The thief seemed to pick up on this and smiled at him mischievously.

“ _What?!_ ” Jack snapped, uncomfortable.

“Watch your _temper_ will you? I was just going to say that Kormac and Eirena seem to have something going _on_ between them.” Lyndon whispered petulantly while watching Kormac put his spear through the chest cavity of a blue skeleton, while Eirena was petting the wolf's ears, and the beast's tongue lolled out in happiness and her tail thumped on the ground, just like any other domesticated hound.

Jack finished the skeleton off with an arrow through the skull. “They seem quite close... Why do you feel the need to bring this up _now_?” Jack muttered, wondering how he always seemed to get dragged into nonsensical conversations with the thief while he was trying to focus on an _important_ task.

“Yes... that's what worries me.” The thief replied with a bored drawl. He didn't sound very worried.

“Why? Afraid you'll _lose_ her to him?” Jack teased, easily falling back into the familiar back-and-forth they had developed, almost without realizing he was doing so.

“Me? _Lose_? Does that _ever_ happen?” Lyndon retorted with a laugh. Jack smirked a bit, feeling slightly better.

“More often than you _admit_ anyway.”

“I was merely concerned for her well being, she's lived a very sheltered life.” Lyndon explained in a serious tone as he fired a stun bolt into the face of some horrible reaper creature with elongated arms and a mouth filled with gnashing teeth. The arms shriveled grotesquely upon its death as if they were somehow the source of its strange lightning power.

Jack sighed, a bit annoyed again, “Why do I not believe you?”

Lyndon smiled knowingly at him, “Oh ye of little _faith_. But, I suppose it doesn't matter, I'm not interested in _her_ anyways.” He continued, then reached out with the tips of his fingers and brushed the back of Jack's neck, quicker than blinking, making him shiver.

“ _Don't_.” He growled, nerves keyed up. The thief grinned at him.

“You weren't _complaining_ in the cathed-” Lyndon began seductively.

“Shut _up_!” Jack forced through his teeth. The last thing he wanted was for Eirena or Kormac to overhear. Lyndon had _no_ shame.

Lyndon sighed, annoyed, “You're very _shy_ , you know that?”

“We have to focus on our _work_ here! We... can't talk about this now.” Jack muttered angrily, face turning pink.

Lyndon gave an over-dramatic sigh and rolled his eyes. “Oh, _forgive_ me, I didn't realize that talking about Kormac and Eirena was _work_ related, but talking about _you_ and _I_ is-”

“Look out!” Kormac's quick shout from behind gave them just enough time to save their lives.

Something landed on the ground with an almighty crunch, shattering the carefully laid cobblestone and stunning him for precious seconds. The creature moved its massive, muscular arms and almost crushed Jack's head when it clapped its hands together. Ears ringing, he tumbled out of the way and looked for Lyndon. The thief was picking himself up from the ground several yards away and Jack was relieved. He could concentrate his full attention on the demon now. The thing roared, a great muscular creature, like some kind of hideously mutated barbarian with metal armor pieces on its head and arms. The armor was _angelic_ in design. Once the Demon Hunter was up and moving, it didn't take him long to end the vile beast. He fired a well aimed bola shot and its head was messily removed from its shoulders, then obliterated by Eirena's arcane missiles.

It gave him little satisfaction to kill it, he'd made a stupid mistake by not paying more attention to his surroundings. The creature could have easily killed them both if Kormac had not yelled.

“Everything alright Jack?” Kormac asked him, concerned, “Yes, just, _distracted_.” Jack answered quickly, glancing at Lyndon who was rubbing his tailbone with a grimace. At least he seemed to be no worse for wear, he could have been _crushed_ to death.

“Well, perhaps some rest will put you to rights.” The Templar conceded awkwardly, unused to the Demon Hunter being in any way distracted when he was on a task. Indeed it was unusual for him. He couldn't blame Lyndon for talking to him, tempting as it was, it was the hunter's fault too, he needed to stay focused.

They kept going, everyone staying quiet as the body count seemed to continue to rise.

Literally.

At times there were so many glowing blue skeletons that the entire street would be illuminated. They were easily dealt with, fragile as they were, but Jack's mood could only blacken at the thought of just how many dead there _really_ were. He likened that it was the same story for every major city. He didn't think about Caldeum.

Or Kingsport.

Or the Demon Hunter encampment in the north. He had not seen the raven for some time, he'd sent him to Josen with a letter weeks ago.

The stench of death and rot was getting stronger the closer they got to Gideon's Row, one of the most densely populated districts in Westmarch. When they entered the large square, Jack immediately became aware of the fact that his decade of living a life as a Demon Hunter was not enough to prepare him for what horrors lay in that little square. He had seen many burned villages, blackened bodies in smoking pits, the aftermath of a slaughter, even Hell itself. But no amount of years in the service of vengeance would ever be enough to numb him to _this_.

What were once individuals, Westmarch citizens of varying class, was now just a fleshy conglomerate of faces and limbs wherein remained nothing that could recall even the memory of life. The warm colors of vitality were washed gray with decay and bloated like so much waterlogged meat. Jack was suddenly very aware of the way his tongue fit in his mouth, the exact diameter of his esophagus, and the suddenly nauseating slide of saliva down the back of his throat when he swallowed for the last time. Then his mouth became dry and hot like the deserts of Kehjistan.

Hundreds, no, _thousands_ of bodies piled like pebbles on a stone beach, it had only been a few days since Malthael's attacks on Westmarch and the rest of the world, but already the corpses appeared to have rotted like deceased vermin, forgotten in the dark. A thousand mouths gaped open, showing glistening, yellowed teeth and tongues that hung uselessly, sagging like old liver. Eye sockets swam with yellowed mucus, clouded, wasted eyeballs floating like buoys in a poison sea, gazed accusingly at him. Jack felt a prickling, suffocating heat crawl up his spine like caressing fingers, and spread through his head to his toes, along with a ringing in his ears that began to steadily increase in volume. A smith hammer on vorpal steel. Jack's memory, perfect in its recollection of detail, burned the images into his mind's eye like a brand, there forever in all their horrible madness.

The stench alone was so strong it was nearly visible, pure decay, fear, and suffering with an edge of thick-sticky sour sweetness. It was almost overwhelming enough to replace the vision it seeped from, but not quite. A broken skull, the cavity filled with blackish brown tissue. Darkened, clawed fingernails from a once graceful woman's hand, seen, then seen again, hovering in his vision like spots when he gazed at the sun after he blinked in stunned horror. The joined embrace of countless lovers, a Hellish orgy of bodies that they had no choice but to walk upon, boots producing the moist squishing sound akin to walking on waterlogged soil. And still somehow, they had to gather the strength to not recoil in horror when hungry dead clawed their way through the mess of flesh to the surface to _grab_ at them. A thin shriek from Eirena, a sound of pure terror that was muffled by the vibrating metal ring in his head. Kormac's yell and the fleshy impact noise of its swift impalement from the Templar's spear.

Things squirmed in the hair of the dead. It was not quite warm enough for maggots but still the more weather resilient insects took what they could find from the veritable feast laid before them. Jack fired his bolts at the shuffling, scrabbling things that reached for them, but it was muscle memory that pulled the triggers.

At the center of this lucid nightmare was-and he felt a sudden primal hope then that perhaps it _was_ merely a nightmare, one of thousands that plagued him in his young life and wherever his body had demanded he drop off to sleep, he would soon awaken, sweating, shaking, and nauseous, perhaps even crying, and maybe it would have been _Lyndon_ that shook him awake to tell him that he'd been _screaming_ again, but please somewhere else that wasn't _here-_   a Death Maiden, back arched unnaturally and delicate hands outstretched in the vile gathering of dead energy, fueling the black, writhing orb of faces before her. The screams of the souls trapped within that black awfulness were deafening and pierced through the veil of muted water that deadened the sound around him.

In the face of such wanton waste and sinful disregard for life, his humanity shrank back in utter revulsion, and something _else_ rose with vicious rage and slipped in to fill the empty space left behind.

And he lost control.

A hatred, so black and so vile it was almost like an accelerated, spreading disease, began to escape the carefully constructed confines of his blood to release and pour from him like water overpowering a dam. There was a skewing of vision and his heart was pounding like the fluttering wings of a hummingbird, impossibly loud in his head. He became lightheaded quickly from the outpouring of intense, uncontrollable emotion made manifest. Black shadowed tendrils formed living projectiles that were loosed by creeping black and gold energy that arched like lightning. His body smoked like a smoldering, damp fire, and then there _was_ fire, a fire that consumed and burned and whipped in the wind, red as blood. Then it consumed him as well until blood was all he could see.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

He woke on his back, feeling as though he were waking from a long slumber, to the distinct feeling of nausea, and fingers combing through his hair while someone -Eirena- was speaking in a very agitated manner.

“-bilities are growing more powerful while he has _not_ had the time to be able to adapt to control-”

“Jack?” Lyndon's voice, soft but with a sharp edge of concern behind it. He blinked open his eyes to see everyone kneeling over him, faces stricken with varying degrees of fright and worry. Jack felt something warm and wet moving over his fingers and recognized the wolf's tongue, licking his hand. He realized then that he must have been laying on something dead and moved to sit up.

“Careful.” The thief helped him sit up and the world tipped a little before righting itself. He sat there a moment, blinking at the golden flakes of light that shimmered in the air and the black obsidian that hung there with them. The wolf snuffled at his fingers, then sat, thumping her tail on the ground heavily. He was not sitting on so many corpses he noticed, the cobblestone ground around him was revealed, a great black scorch mark of demonic magic had burned the dead away, and in front of him, a great crater that broke through the cobbled square and went deep into the ground. The stench of flesh put to the flame was heavy in the air and he swallowed again before speaking.

“What... what _happened_?” He asked quietly, voice raw.

“We were hoping that you could tell us.” Kormac said evenly. “You seemed to... change... and there was a great... _eruption_ of incredible power.” The Templar continued. Jack remembered the hatred, the burning and the blood and the _fire_ , but not much else.

Disturbing.

“It was a bit like when _Leah_... what happened to her sometimes when she was in danger...” Lyndon offered hesitantly, “But not _quite_ the same.” He finished, hands on the hunter's shoulders to help him keep his balance.

“The Death Maiden died so _quickly_ , she burned in the fires almost immediately... and then the orb was destroyed.” Eirena explained.

“I- I don't remember much.” Jack admitted, he made to stand and Lyndon pulled his arm over his own shoulders carefully, helping him up. The dizziness worsened for a moment, along with the nausea, but it ebbed a little after a few moments of standing very still.

“Do you _feel_ alright?” The scoundrel asked him anxiously.

“Yes.” He muttered, but it wasn't entirely truthful, and Lyndon's look suggested he knew Jack was lying but didn't press the matter. He did feel alright, but there was a light sickness still present and a sudden and oppressive exhaustion he had not felt the likes of since Bastion's Keep. But there was still one more Crucible to destroy, and likely another maiden to kill.

“We should go. There's one more crucible to find.” He said flatly, and began to walk slowly, pulling himself out of the thief's grip.

“Are you sure you feel alright Jack?” Eirena asked, “We can-”

“No. Don't have the time and none of you are going alone. I'm fine.” Jack said, heading toward the gates at the opposite end of the square. They followed him quietly and the Demon Hunter could feel the heavy weight of Lyndon's scrutiny burning into the back of his skull.

There was movement from a pile of unburned corpses and Jack tiredly aimed his crossbows at it, ready to annihilate whatever nightmarish abomination crawled out. It was not a moving corpse that emerged, but an older woman who was very much alive. They all stood there in surprise, staring at her stupidly, and before any of them could speak, she spoke first:

She took a relieved breath of air and sighed brushing some unidentifiable piece of rot from her clothes. “Thank you Jack, I knew you would arrive in time to rescue me.” The woman said with a light accent that seemed a bit familiar to him.

She was an older woman, in her late fifties perhaps, but seemed younger with few lines in her skin to age her features. Her brown eyes were kind like her face and their gaze held great wisdom. Her long, white-blonde hair was tied back carefully with a wine colored bandana that was attached to a gold headband. She was dressed lavishly in a corset of purple, pink, and gold that did little to conceal the curves of her ample bosom. Adorning her throat and wrists were gold bracelets and a valuable looking gold necklace set with a gaudy red gem that matched her hair piece. Her wrapped purple skirt had decorative tassels that also appeared to be threaded with gold. Her feet were almost bare, but for simple sandals. The long staff she held in her worn hands was hung with strips of beautifully woven cloth and tinkling rings of polished metal. The blue gem set at the top caught the light as she moved.

“Who are you?” Jack asked suspiciously, “And how do you know me?”

“I am a mystic of the Vecin people, my name is Myriam Jahzia and I foresaw our meeting, but come, we can speak more later, there is another soul crucible that must be destroyed and I will lead you to it.” She explained quickly and opened the gate.

“Good enough for me, madame.” Kormac answered, “Anything to get away from this... _horror_.”

Jack stared at her a moment, _mystic_ sounded an awful lot like _witch_ to him, and past experience told him that he should not trust any witch ever again. She only stared back as if she knew why he hesitated. That only irritated him more.

“Fine. Lead on.” He conceded crossly and followed her up the long staircase, feeling weary.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=+=

 

“Oh lovely, _another_ graveyard, just what I always wanted to see.” Lyndon muttered as they entered the cemetery. Jack sighed, hoping that he would not complain much more, he needed to save his energy for the second Maiden, not waste it by yelling at the thief.

“Sometimes I feel as if we've toured _every_ cemetery in the west.” Lyndon continued.

“Indeed it feels as if we cannot escape death here.” Eirena murmured hollowly, causing Kormac to turn his head to her with a muddled, unhappy expression. She _did_ look rather pale, Jack thought. The sight of such... vile waste of life was enough to make _anyone_ ill.

“Alright, Eirena?” Kormac asked gently.

“Oh, yes, I'm alright.” She answered with a weak smile. Sometimes the hunter marveled at the courage his companions displayed, it was heartening.

“This is Briarthorn Cemetery, it used to be rather peaceful, but now... I do not think it will be so pleasant.” Myriam said sadly. Jack looked around, he could hear nighthawks making their strange sounds high in the sky above them. There were many fences, made of elegantly wrought iron that were wreathed with crawling rose vines and briars. There were many beautiful stone and marble headstones and even older ones made of slate. The foliage was immaculately cared for and he imagined it would be a beautiful place in springtime. In the gentle light of day, he thought he might quite like it here. The quiet was... calming.

But the peace was quickly broken by the moaning of the dead.

“Eugh, few boneyards are, at least all the ones _we've_ visited.” Lyndon answered, even as he aimed at a shuffling corpse. Jack followed suit and soon they were killing the risen dead that infested that quiet place. At least it was _easy_ , he would not have had the strength for more. The lingering tiredness gnawed at him and worried him, he hoped it would go away with rest. He could not afford to become as burnt out as he had been when Diablo had been defeated, the exhaustion had followed him long after he'd recovered from his injuries.

He would not think about that horrible loss of control, it was too disturbing for him to contemplate at the moment. He needed to focus, and the very last thing he needed was another person to look after.

“You should go to the survivor's enclave at the Zakarum cathedral, it's far too dangerous out here.” Jack told Myriam seriously.

“Nonsense, you'll protect me.” She said with a smile, “And after seeing what those orbs of death do to people... I need to see you destroy the last one with my own eyes if I am _ever_ to sleep again.” She finished darkly.

“Too right.” Lyndon agreed with a grimace.

“It is wonderful to finally meet, but I must say... you are _skinnier_ than my visions led me to believe.” Myriam continued, a smile in her voice. Lyndon barked a laugh at that and Jack glared at him sourly. He'd never much thought about what he looked like... at least not until _recently_.

“You just don't take care of yourself, it's all about saving the world first isn't it?” The woman continued with a wry grin. Jack really wasn’t in the mood to talk and tried to ignore her.

“As it _should_ be madam. The world is quite an important thing.” Kormac said with firm conviction.

“Well, sometimes he does get rather tired.” Eirena offered after a pause. Jack stared at her, hoping she would drop it. Apparently their prey was _too_ easy, it allowed too much time for _idle_ conversation.

“You know I've never _seen_ him eat.” Lyndon remarked to Myriam with a false sense of wonder.

“Shut up Lyndon!” He snapped furiously at the thief, annoyed. Myriam giggled and he almost shouted at her too.

“Hey, you didn't tell _Eirena_ to shut up!” Lyndon shot back.

“Don't worry Lyndon, he's just overtired.” Eirena offered with a mischievous smile. Jack grit his teeth and put six bolts through the skull of an odd winged creature with a scythe. Another wretched reaper.

“Jacky, when's the last time you _shaved_ , hm? Your face is starting to get a bit out of control.” Lyndon remarked breezily, apparently realizing the game he could make of this.

Wretched man.

“Did you eat a good breakfast this morning? I have some corned beef and cabbage simmering at my caravan.” Myriam offered innocently.

“Ooo! And then perhaps a nice _nap_ after, hm?” Lyndon wheedled gleefully.

“At least _Kormac_ knows how to mind his own business.” Jack grit out, kicking a skeleton back into the grave it crawled from, then sending a flaming arrow through its ribcage.

“Well...” The Templar began nervously, having learned long before any of the others that the Demon Hunter had a vicious anger issue. He kicked at the ground a bit like a child while Jack stared at him, “Sometimes you... _do_ avoid sleep, w-when you have the _opportunity_ to rest.” He finished sheepishly.

“Must you all accost me? Should we talk about my fashion sense next? We have a _job_ to do here in case anyone has _forgotten_.” The Demon Hunter growled at them, temper getting the better of him. Then he stopped, closing his eyes for a moment, as the shouting made his head start to hurt.

“Are you alright? I'm sorry, we were only teasing...” Lyndon said immediately, noting his distress and resting a hand on his arm. Jack shrugged him off angrily, feeling incredibly self conscious from all the scrutiny. He _hated_ it. Almost as much as he hated demons, and for him, that was certainly saying something.

“Jack...” Myriam said suddenly after a long silence. He glanced back at her, daring her to say anything more about his appearance.

“I see you harbor much guilt over Leah's fate.” The mystic said sadly.

Anger, grief, fear, and deep suspicion were suddenly all at war within him. “How do you know about her?” He breathed, clenching his fingers around the worn handles of his crossbows until his knuckles went white. He glanced at Lyndon, but the rogue had gone quiet.

“I am a mystic, celdo, and I see the past as well as the future.” she answered gently. “You must not let your guilt consume you.” She finished seriously, and he could hear a motherly concern in her voice.

He fought to bring his emotions under control. “You have a lot to learn about me.” He replied dangerously, and all conversation died after that.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

This time, when they entered the Noble's Rest courtyard, a cemetery for the wealthy, they knew what they would find there. But it only made things easier by the barest sliver. It allowed tunnel vision to take over and dictate what the eyes should focus on, instead of flitting about helplessly over an ocean of waste, and rot, and death. Myriam waited back on the stairs by the entrance and Jack was grateful he did not have to think about protecting her.

Sometimes he felt he was beginning to rely too much on his friend's abilities, he didn't think of them at all, trusting that they would do what was needed and that he would not have to get involved. It was both comforting and a little alarming.

The Death Maiden died slower this time, Jack kept a careful leash on himself and focused only on her, letting the others take care of the useless, dead minions she summoned in a bid to kill them.

His father had taught him that it was wrong to waste, lives most of all, because everything had value. He held on to that belief tightly. This maiden would pay, and then her master would pay after, and _then_... perhaps... he could find peace again.

She was almost dead, falling toward that horrible writhing orb of blackness and screaming with rage, when she swung with her scythe and skimmed his chest just barely, blade ringing like a clear bell in his ears. The little brown bat, startled, flew from his pocket in haste and he grabbed for it quickly with a slight cry of surprise, but missed, his fingers barely skimming the soft fur on its back with his fingertips.

As the maiden writhed and died, the orb imploded, sending life stealing energy out in a swirl of blue into the sky. The bat had flown up high above them and was struck.

Dead instantly.

Then, as if to torment him, it rose before its little body had even reached the ground, transformed into something vile, larger than it was before and glowing that ethereal, ghostly blue. Then it flew at him, screeching like a crying child.

He fired a single arrow and killed it, watching the bones fall to the ground.

Jack stared at the skeleton piled there blankly, unsure of what to feel. He knelt down and picked up the bones carefully, and pocketed them. He turned back and everyone was staring at him like he could go off at any minute.

They shouldn't have feared him so, all he could feel was tiredness.

“I-I'm sorry... I know you... _liked_ it.” Lyndon spoke awkwardly, not quite meeting his eyes. The man had always done poorly with apologies.

“There are human lives at stake, it doesn't matter.” He responded flatly.

“It matters to you.” Lyndon replied gently.

He had nothing to say to that. He merely stared at the thief.

He thought that the sight of such unrelenting death would drive lesser men to madness, and even as he looked in Lyndon's eyes he saw the horror and and the disconnect between what he was seeing and what he refused to accept as reality residing within him. A lesser man might have screamed in horror, fled, broke in way that could not be fixed, but as they continued to stare at one another, Lyndon's face hardened to steel. As it had before at the edge of the crater to Hell, and as it had at the portal to Heaven, entryway stained in the blood of a young woman they had both called friend. He had not run then, and Jack knew that he would not run now. He could call the scoundrel many things, but _coward_ would never be one of them.

_(The crossbow is not a weapon for cowards!)_

_(Ha. Did I offend you?)_

There was a promise in his face. Retribution would come to the Archangel of Wisdom turned Death. Cold, and hard, and final.

Eirena conjured a portal back to the cathedral and they all stepped through it quietly, like a funeral procession.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

“Who is this?” Jack asked Haedrig tiredly, as the man carefully repaired the long slice in his chest armor that he'd received from the maiden's scythe. The rest of his companions were settled on the pretty carpet laid out in front of Myriam's caravan, getting familiar with their new lady friend as she served them dinner.

There was a young man watching Haedrig work intently, all the while giving the Demon Hunter nervous glances. He squeaked when the hunter asked about him, but Jack didn't pay him much mind, he was too busy avoiding the frequent stares from Lyndon who was but a few yards away.

“I-I'm _Brycen_...” The boy muttered shyly. He had hair the color of deer hide and had a fearful, earnest looking face. Older then fifteen, but younger than twenty, Jack guessed. He wore some kind of warm looking peasant's garb that was too big for him.

“I kept hearing things behind my forge, and after a while, I investigated. There was a hidden cellar on the other side of the fence and this boy was hiding down there. Then the dead started to come in through the ground.” Haedrig explained calmly as he worked.

“Haedrig saved my life! And now I want to repay him by helping him!” The youth shouted excitedly.

“And I told _you_ to stay away from my forge!” The blacksmith snapped angrily.

“He only wants to help, and you did save his life, perhaps he is just grateful.” Jack muttered absently, pulling on the bottom of his black tunic in distraction, bare arms breaking out in goosebumps from the chill in the air. He didn't like to be without his armor, he felt naked and exposed without it, and it set him on edge, far too aware of everything.

Haedrig followed Jack's gaze to Lyndon who, seeing that both of them were staring at him, waved cheerfully, then turned back to his food.

The blacksmith hummed thoughtfully.

“Something on your mind Haedrig?” Jack asked quickly.

“Hm? Oh... no.” The blacksmith replied innocently.

And that was that.

Once Jack had his armor back on, he felt better, but then there was nothing to do to occupy him until Tyrael said he'd found something. He'd already bothered the Archangel about it, desperate for a distraction, and endured a short conversation with the robed man they'd met at the overlook earlier.

Lorath Nahr, his name was. His hero worship was evident and it annoyed the hunter. He had not the time nor the energy for such foolishness.

Though... apparently he _did,_ he thought with deep frustration. There was nothing to do now. Feeling tiredness and urgency swirling within him, he started to pace like a beast in a cage.

“Oh no, we're not doing _this_ again!” Lyndon shouted suddenly, drawing his attention, and indeed the attention of half the courtyard. “You may remember a few months ago, when, in similar fashion, you refused food and rest, and later found yourself to be bedridden for nearly two days!” Lyndon scolded the Demon Hunter loudly. “I will not stand to witness something so _bloody_ stupid again. Come here and _eat_.” He stared at Jack angrily, as if daring him to refuse.

Jack gazed back at Lyndon with a deep scowl, eyes flaming bright, while Kormac and Eirena looked a bit nervous, afraid he would snap again.

Myriam smiled sweetly at him.

He lurched toward them and seated himself on the steps of her caravan gracefully. Offering the lot of them a look of cool indifference. Lyndon was immediately up,  then seated himself quite rudely between the hunter's knees lone step below him, while Kormac and Eirena talked amongst themselves.

The man was nearly insufferable.

“Your boots look like bird feet.” Lyndon said mildly, handing the hunter a cup of coffee, which he learned after a sip, was made exactly as he preferred, and a bowl of corned beef and cabbage that made him feel immediately sick upon sight.

"When a hawk or an owl strikes, the body of its prey is impaled by its talons and killed immediately." Jack said.

"That's pleasant. Glad I brought it up." Lyndon answered with an airy sarcasm.

"They are good for traction as well." The hunter added.

Lyndon watched him polish off the coffee quickly, and set the empty cup aside. Jack stared out at nothing in particular as the scoundrel continued to eat, holding the warm bowl of food in his hands.

“ _Dearest_ Jack, as your friend, I will take it upon myself to inform you that coffee is _not_ a food, it is only a drink.” Lyndon lectured calmly.

“So all the times you insisted to me that _ale_ was food you were lying then?” Jack shot back, staring ahead at the doors that led deeper into the cathedral.

“Of _course_ I was lying you daft bastard. Just _eat_ something.” Lyndon snapped.

He gazed at the food again and gripped the spoon firmly. If it would shut him up...

He ate a few bites, then a few more, feeling worse with each passing moment. The nausea grew worse and he could not banish the images of the veritable carpet of rotting dead that hung in his mind so vividly. The food turned slimy in his gut and he swallowed thickly, wondering if he might vomit after all.

“All right, all right, you look like you're going to be _sick_ , don't bloody force yourself.” The thief muttered worriedly, taking the bowl away from him. He rested his head in his hands and took several deep breaths until the sick feeling passed. He blinked against the sharp headache forming behind his eyes. At any rate it was preferable and more easily dealt with than nausea. Pain was easy to ignore for the most part.

“I know how you feel.” Eirena murmured, “I feel as if I might never eat again, all those bodies rotting-”

“Eirena, darling, I'm going to stop you right there. Just because _you're_ not hungry doesn't mean you have to spoil the appetites of the rest of us.” Lyndon said quickly, cutting her off and eating his food with a vigor the Demon Hunter would likely never possess. Sometimes he just couldn't understand him.

“You are a most... _unusual_ traveler Myriam, can you tell me about yourself?” Jack asked the mystic quietly in a bid to distract himself.

“Celdo, how sweet of you to ask!” The hunter was unused to such affectionate nicknames and felt a bit embarrassed, though he had no idea what it meant, he knew it was a pet name of some kind. “My people the Vecin are nomads, always traveling, looking for the land we might settle. All of use have the sight.” She said, the gentle lilt of her voice calming. He could sense no evil from her, and that was comforting. But he would have to check more thoroughly, when he wasn't so tired.

“But few have it as strong as myself.” She added with a little laugh. Lyndon, Eirena and Kormac listened eagerly, appearing quite interested. “I had a vision of death blanketing our world and I left my family and my people to come help you.” She continued.

“That must have been quite the burden.” Eirena said speaking up, the enchantress would surely know the feeling better than most.

“Nonsense celsa.” Myriam said. Ah, so it was a male/female term of endearment then. Hm.

“Vecin often receive visions when it is time to find a new family, I have had many in my life and I still love and miss each and every one of them. Except for Jonah, _I never really liked that one!_ ” Myriam finished in an impish whisper. Eirena giggled sweetly behind her hand, and Kormac looked up at the sky, turning pink.

“You know Jack, men have always pursued me for my visions, well, for things _other_ than my visions.” She added mischievously. The hunter sighed, he could only guess.

“Ha!” Lyndon laughed, amused by the lewd, as _always_.

“But really, everyone wants to know what the future holds.” Myriam finished with conviction.

“My future holds vengeance.” Jack said flatly, and Lyndon sighed dramatically, the Demon Hunter gave him a light shove and he nearly spilled his cup of tea.

“But what will you do with your revenge when you have it celdo? You still have to make a life for yourself. A little _love_ would do you wonders.” She said with a wink and a grin. Before Jack could stop himself, his eyes flicked to the thief and back, then he flushed self consciously, angry at his lack of self control.

“You seem to know what's _best_ for me then.” Jack muttered furiously, done with the conversation.

Myriam smiled at him gently, he refused to look back at her.

“What else can you tell us Myriam? Surely you have seen many interesting things in your travels.” Kormac asked amiably, steering the topic away from the Demon Hunter, for which he was extremely grateful.

“Oh! I could tell you stories! Our wagon train came to a dying village once...” She began, but Jack had stopped listening. A heavy wave of drowsiness had washed over him, and not even the coffee could help. It had been a trying number of hours and he expected it would only get more difficult from here on out.

For the first time in his life, the thought of more filled him with trepidation.

He stared at Lyndon's back in a daze, it was so close, perhaps he could just rest his head a _moment_ and no one would notice. He could feel that comforting closeness again and feel just a little bit better, and then he could find the strength to keep going.

Almost without realizing it, he tipped his head forward to rest on the rogues shoulder and was asleep in seconds.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting more angsty now (sorry...). A long chapter without Lyndon's point of view, we'll hear from him next time.


	5. My Brother's Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don't get to make things right. This world isn't made for redemption.”  
> -Haedrig Eamon, a blacksmith
> 
> (Heavy angst and violence and lots of game dialogue used)

_And God asked of Cain, "Where is Abel, thy brother?" To which Cain replied, "I know not: am I my brother's keeper?" And God said, "What hast thou done? The voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto me from the ground. And now art thou cursed from the earth, which hath opened her mouth to receive thy brother's blood from thy hand; When thou tillest the ground, it shall not henceforth yield unto thee her strength; a fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth._  
―Genesis 4:09-4:12

 

Lyndon felt the sudden weight on his back, and it startled him for a moment because he'd been so engaged in Myriam's story. Some strands of black hair fell into his peripheral vision and he relaxed again. Jack had folded his tall self up to rest his head apparently. Warm, even breaths puffing between his shoulder blades indicated that he'd also fallen asleep. Beneath the heavy odor of rot that clung to all of them still, Jack smelled like leather, hemlock, and the spearmint of black birch. It was _enticing_. He fought the urge to turn his head and take a breath through his hair, it would banish that horrible dead smell at least, if only for a moment. But likely that would create a very _sudden_ and very _embarrassing_ scene.

For _Jack_ at least.

Lyndon bit back a smile, even as he felt vaguely worried that Jack had just dropped off like that. He did not want to draw attention to him and make him self conscious, so he just sat as still as he could and let him sleep. It was always a relief when he finally did. Whatever had happened to him in that death filled courtyard had clearly exhausted him.

Whatever _that_ had been.

He'd never seen the Demon Hunter do anything like that before. He hadn't even resembled himself. If anything he'd looked more demonic than ever, the powers he'd displayed were reminiscent of some he'd seen only from the demon lords themselves. And Gods, the _fire_... Lyndon had been beside himself when the man had just collapsed afterward, and all the darkness and rage that had seethed from him had dissipated like drifting smoke. The last time that had happened, his ribcage had been like so much broken glass. One of Jack's fears, he remembered he'd told him in Holbrook, was losing _control_ of himself and hurting someone. And surely, hours ago he'd come quite close.

Could it happen again? And would it be worse the next time? Perhaps.

And then he'd lost his pet bat. Lyndon had never really cared much for it, or any of the other animals Jack chose to keep, but he knew how much he had liked it, if carrying it around in his _pocket_ with him everywhere he went was any indication of affection. He had looked so sad when he'd been forced to slay the little thing, that Lyndon had felt quite sorry for him. Perhaps that she-wolf would be enough of a replacement, it was certainly big enough to pet properly at least. But the sadness he had seen in the hunter's eyes stayed with him even still.

Grim and troublesome as it was, at least pondering on Jack was an effective enough distraction to keep him from agonizing over his brother. He couldn't go more than a few minutes at a time without thinking about whether or not he was alright, what was happening in Kingsport, if Rea and her children got out safely. Or if the very _worst_ had happened to them all.

Eugh, and here he was torturing himself _again_. It was maddening.

He glanced up and saw that Miriam and Eirena had noticed his little predicament, smiling at him and the sleeping hunter like they thought it was the sweetest damned thing they'd ever _seen._ Bah, _women._ Lyndon tried his best to appear as though he were indifferent to it. But it wasn't that he was ashamed (he'd left shame behind in a filthy gutter years ago) he just knew that the Demon Hunter _would_ be and that sometimes people often had strong opinions about things that weren't their bloody business.

Only the sulky Templar seemed completely oblivious, And that wasn't anything new now was it?

“What's wrong Kormac? You look even _more_ miserable than usual.” Lyndon said loudly to the Templar, quite effectively sending attention away from himself and Jack.

“Of course I do, my city is on the verge of destruction.” Kormac hissed at him immediately. It was so _easy_ to get him going. He really needed to relax once in a while.

“Oh, is _that_ all?” Lyndon asked breezily.

“What else would it be? Hm?” Kormac replied, barely keeping himself from shouting.

“Now _there's_ something to ponder.” Lyndon answered with a wry grin. Perhaps if he spoke to the object of his affections he wouldn't be so dour. Lyndon was still unsure whether or not Kormac had indeed fulfilled the bet from their Bastion's Keep card game and talked to her. Buy the look of things, he hadn't. So much for his honor.

Eirena spoke up gently, and rested her dainty, porcelain hand on the Templar's knee. “Kormac, you _do_ seem very sad.” she remarked gently.

Kormac blinked at her and in the face of her warm concern, seemed to deflate. “Do you know how it feels? My city destroyed. The people I knew, _dead_.” The pain in his voice made Lyndon feel sorry he'd even brought it up at all.

“I do, we share the same grief and the same pain.” Eirena insisted quietly.

The Templar seemed to gather his courage and then did something that Lyndon did _not_ expect. “Would you... talk with me? All of this weighs heavily on my soul.” Kormac asked Eirena quietly, as though completely oblivious to the others around him. He only had eyes for _her_.

Hm, perhaps he wasn't sorry he brought it up after all, if it would get him to _speak_ with her...

Eirena blinked, she seemed surprised. “Of _course_ I will.”

They both got up and moved toward the campfire to speak to one another more privately, leaving him and Jack alone with their new friend. Kormac glanced at Lyndon with an agitated expectant expression as he left, perhaps waiting for a teasing word. But the scoundrel wisely decided not to say a thing and smiled smugly at him instead, causing the Templar to flush red and he turned away quickly to gather his courage once more.

Lyndon was glad for them, really. He saw how much the silly Templar ailed over her, mostly it _amused_ him immensely, but also drove him a bit mad sometimes that Kormac could face death and slay demons every day without batting an eye, but couldn't seem to get the _bollocks_ to tell Eirena how he felt about her. That sounded an awful lot like a certain bashful _hunter_ he knew. Jack's thoughts and feelings were almost a complete mystery to him, he could only read what Jack allowed (consciously or not) to show on the surface. Mostly it had been anger and sadness, but sometimes an edge of fear, which Lyndon did not like at all.

He had been thinking carefully about what Haedrig had said to him this morning. It seemed like they had been talking a _week_ ago, but it had really only been about eight hours or so. A lot could happen in a day, as he was frequently reminded. Jack really _did_ run hot and cold, unable to relax at all. He ran around all keyed up and agitated, and snapped at him like a bloody snake in a bag. Until they managed to get _alone_ together that is, then Jack practically _melted_ for him at the slightest touch. While it was great for when Lyndon's desire became too strong to ignore, it wasn't exactly... _healthy_ for Jack _._ Mentally. That much of a discord between what Lyndon thought Jack was feeling for the thief, and what the man wouldn't allow himself to _have_ for various reasons (both known and unknown) was likely what was shredding his nerves and making him so skittish and distracted.

He had lost control of his rapidly developing power in Gideon's Row. It was definitely something to be concerned about if his thoughts and feelings were all topsy-turvy at the same time. That made it more likely to happen again...and _worse_. Lyndon wasn't going to take full responsibility for the hunter's little outburst, but he suspected that all his advances may not have _exactly_ helped to prevent that situation. He sighed a bit and leaned back against Jack's chest a little to get comfortable, in for the long haul. He knew now that he cared about the hunter deeply, and wanted him constantly with a distinct intensity he hadn't really experienced since... _Bah_.

Beyond that, it was something he didn't have the mind to examine in much depth at the moment. He had to talk to him again about his brother. It might be better if he left before things became too involved anyway. Lyndon felt like there was a storm brewing, and not the kind that filled the skies. He needed to get to Edlin before it was too late. And then...? Maybe he could come back and talk to Jack about... _whatever_ this was between them. He'd tell him when he woke, but for now, he'd let his arse go numb and sit here until dawn if he had to, if only to give the man a chance to rest.

Jack sniffed lightly against his back and shifted his head slightly. Myriam chuckled a bit and Lyndon remembered that she was there.

“See? I knew he'd take a nap. He's an _idiot_ , I swear.” Lyndon remarked offhandedly to the older woman, she laughed. And he rolled his shoulders a bit to adjust his position a bit more. He found that he liked Myriam immediately. He liked bold, confident women, though shy and virginal was fine too... actually he liked _all_ women, but he liked it best when they liked him too, and she seemed to like him well enough. For once.

“He is afraid he will like you too much, because he has _lost_ too much.” Myriam said to him suddenly, as she refilled his tea, breaking the calm silence.

“Uhm, sorry? Didn't catch that.” How was it that _everyone_ seemed to be aware of this thing between them?

“And you have suffered much heartbreak yourself celdo, you fear to let yourself _love_ again because you fear that pain.” She continued as if he hadn't said anything at all.

Lyndon gaped at her in shock, then recovered his poise, putting on a wry smile. “And how, pray tell, did you come to _that_ conclusion? Wait! _Don't_ tell me! You're a witch and you can see the future or some such _rot_.” Lyndon answered with a little laugh. He refused to believe that mortals could possess any power that only the _angels_ had. Well, one angel. And for all his impressive abilities, not even Jack could do that.

She smiled sweetly at him, “A mystic.” She corrected.

“Do you know that Haedrig over there told me basically the same thing about him?” Lyndon continued. “First _him_ and now _you_ , Gods, it's almost as bad as having bloody _parents_.” He said to her, annoyed at everyone's damned meddling.

“Don't you mean almost as _good_ as having parents?” She replied quickly, staring into his eyes.

His chest constricted in pain a moment and he stared at her. How could she have known he was an orphan? ...Did she say that so he would _believe_ her?

“Forgive me dear, that was rude.” She amended quickly with a sad smile.

Lyndon let out a slow breath, “It's fine.” He looked away from her a moment at the campfire where Kormac and Eirena were talking, then back to Myriam.

“Hmmm... You know you remind me of another girl I met whilst traveling with _this_ one.” He began, indicating the sleeping hunter at his back with a tilt of his head. “She was trapped in a web, in a cave in the Northern Highlands of Khanduras, north of Wortham. She talked a bit like you do, and dressed a bit like you do. Had a rather lovely pair of _tits_ on her as big as my head, but still not quite as _resplendent_ a pair as yours.” He finished absently with a smile.

Expecting negativity, he braced himself for the usual slap and snap, but none came. Instead the older woman brought a hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter. Lyndon's smile broke into a grin. She'd passed the test.

“You remind me of my second _husband_ , he was quite the devil as well!” She finally managed to say when her giggles had calmed. “I'd offer you the chance to warm my bed, but I think I know that you would refuse me.” She said knowingly with a wink.

“Because you can see the _past_ too and know all about us, is that right?” Lyndon asked her with a cheeky grin.

The hunter shifted a bit with a soft sound, and his arm came up and draped over the scoundrels shoulder to dangle limply at his chest. Jack's face moved and pressed against the hair at the back of his neck. Lyndon swallowed, it was a rather torturous sensation to feel his breath ghost over his skin there, Jack certainly got _grabby_ when he slept, but he'd Just have to grin and bear it.

Lyndon looked at Myriam and smiled, he felt safe enough to briefly stroke the top of the hunter's hand gently with careful fingers. “It's a tragedy for you truly. In Kingsport I had quite a reputation. Had it been not even three weeks prior you would have been privy to the _divine_ pleasure of having my excellent self as your champion, midnight lover.” He said proudly with a hint of fake regret. “But alas, I am currently off the _market_. Oh, I wonder how many women would _weep_ if they knew...” He added wistfully.

She merely laughed heartily, apparently delighted by his jokes, and Lyndon smiled crookedly, feeling strange that he had just admitted to her and likewise to himself that he had basically quit pursuing women and was focusing all of his efforts solely on the Demon Hunter. He thought he would be more alarmed by this, but he found he didn't feel any great sense of loss, just more of a _focus_ for his frustrations.

Though, because of his decision to discontinue his feminine pursuits, he was _awfully_ hot to trot for most of his waking hours. Even a visit from Rosie Palm and her five sisters barely took the edge off. Sometimes he wondered if he had a _problem_ of some kind...

“Celdo, have faith, your patience will be rewarded.” Myriam said to him as he took another long sip from his tea. Kingsport Black Mint, his favorite. Of _course_ she would know...

Lyndon snorted, a little apprehensive about that, “See a good _lay_ in my future do you?” He asked her with an awkward laugh.

“We both know it is more than lust that draws you to him.” She chided gently.

“Oh? _Do_ we?” He mused, thinking it better if he just forgot her words right away.

She giggled rather girlishly for an older woman. She had a very youthful spirit. Lyndon laughed as well.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

_Halissa would not stop crying and screaming, perhaps if he visited her grave after all this he could beg her to stop. He could hear his father now too, over the soft whoosh and thunk of an axe swinging and connecting with something fleshy. His mother's endless criess of fear and agony as she was eaten alive. And he could not help them. But then the crying was coming from someone else, a voice he knew very well and it was breaking his heart. And there was fire. So much fire. Everything was burning, houses, bodies, lives, souls. All burning. And still, tears fell like rain onto moist, bloodstained, bricks of stone that smelled of sandalwood and calfskin, but it was not enough to put out the flames that consumed everything._

_A city was burning._

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

He woke gasping, swallowing a scream, and thrashed against something that held him firmly against something hard at his back. “ _Easyeasyeasy_ , are you awake?” It was Lyndon speaking to him quietly. He blinked rapidly, chest heaving, as reality came back quite suddenly. “Jack? Are you awake?” Lyndon was holding his arms tightly and his back was pressed hard against the door of Myriam's caravan behind him. He stared at the thief, he had scratch on his cheek just below his eye that leaked blood. Myriam was hanging back and Eirena and Kormac had also come over to apparently try to help, but stood a few feet back next to her.

They were all _staring_ at him.

“I-I'm awake.” Jack managed to say finally, trying to slow the pounding of his heart. The scoundrel released him carefully and stepped back, thumbing the scratch on his face. “You were dreaming again.” Lyndon muttered, staring at his fingers for blood, then rubbing again.

“Did _I_ do that?” Jack breathed, staring at his bare fingers, then back at the thief.

“You uh, _did_ get a little rambunctious, yes.” Lyndon said with a slight smile.

“I'm _sorry,_ I-.” Jack began anxiously, he could have clawed his damn _eye_ out.

“It's alright, no permanent damage.” The thief reassured him. “Forget it.” He waved it off, then offered Jack his hand and pulled him to his feet. The hunter sighed deeply, trying not to look at anyone. He felt a bit disoriented, as he often did upon waking after he'd slept too heavily.

“How long did I sleep?” He asked, then remembered something much more important, “Was there any word from Tyrael about the sliver?” He asked urgently, as soon as the thought struck him.

“No, not yet.” Eirena answered quickly, stepping forward. She seemed relieved that he was alright.

“You were only asleep for about an hour or so.” Lyndon explained. “He likely hasn't found anything new, you should try to go back to sl-”

“I should talk to Tyrael.” He said, interrupting him, and walked away quickly. He wished that he'd been alone. It wouldn't have been so bad if it had just been Lyndon (and when had _that_ suddenly become alright?) but it had been in front of _everyone_ and half the wretched enclave. He hadn't felt this self conscious since Josen was teaching him how to shoot a crossbow. He didn't even _remember_ falling asleep. The wolf got up from where she had stretched herself out by the fire and quickly caught up to him, falling into step beside him. He rested a shaky hand on her back as he walked, and felt slightly better.

He stopped at the spot next to Haedrig's caravan where they kept most of their belongings, digging for wherever he'd left his gloves. The wolf sat next to him obediently and wriggled her tail expectantly.

“Alright lad?” Haedrig called to him, and as he looked up to reply to the blacksmith he saw Lyndon standing next to him. He blinked, he hadn't even noticed that he'd been followed. The thief was looking at him with a very resolute expression and he had his hand on his satchel, and his crossbow strapped to his back.

“I'm alright. Thank you Haedrig.” Jack said to the blacksmith distractedly, still staring at Lyndon.

“What are you doing?” Jack asked him hesitantly as Lyndon opened his bag quickly, and pulled the ferrets out with a vaguely annoyed sigh, and transplanted them into Jack's bag instead as they chirped and squirmed in his hands.

Lyndon stood up and pulled his pack on carefully, not quite meeting his eyes. “It's... time for me to go.” He eventually said.

Jack's stomach dropped out and he felt a sudden cold sweat crawl over him like a damp sheet. “ _What_?” He breathed, hardly believing what he was hearing. Why would he _leave_? He can't make it there on his own and Jack _needed_ him here-

“My brother will die in the Kingsport prison if I don't act now. I'm... _sorry_.” Lyndon apologized quietly. He looked up at Jack's eyes regretfully as the hunter just stood there. “I _promise_... I'll come back just as soon as I've-”

“A Kingsport prisoner you say?” Said a man who had peeked around the fence, dressed in the armor of a Knight of Westmarch. Jack and Lyndon both stared at him in surprise.

“I- _Yes._ ” Lyndon answered quickly a bit annoyed by the eavesdropper.

“Those poor devils were all transported to our cells in Westmarch last week.” The knight explained, and Lyndon breathed out in shock and looked back to the Demon Hunter.

“ _What did you just say_?!” He stammered at the man, going pale.

“Though... we haven't heard anything from the garrison since the attacks started.” The man added regretfully, as though they should already have assumed the worst.

“Gods, he's been here this whole _time_?!” Lyndon exclaimed to the hunter as the soldier left. The scoundrel tossed his bag on the ground quickly, but kept his crossbow on, “We- we have to _go_! _I_ have to go!” He shouted desperately. “I have to go save him _right now_!” He finished, pacing a bit in his eagerness to act.

“We... Jack... will you _help_ me?” Lyndon asked him, begging him with his eyes.

The thought of saying 'no' never even occurred to him. Any thoughts of Tyrael and the stone brushed clean from his mind.

“I promised I would. Yes... we'll go _now_.” He answered quickly and they went to the carefully drawn runes and arranged stones that made up their waypoint.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

The Westmarch Prison stood at the edge of the city on the far east side across the canal. Jack could see the roof of it from quite a ways away as they ran through the streets. They took a portal as close as they were able, thankfully _east_ of Gideon's row, but they were still about two miles away. At least with the pendant Eirena had loaned him, they could port back to the cathedral instantly once they found Lyndon's brother.

He would not think of the 'if.' It was too important a thing for him to distract himself with the very likely possibility that Lyndon's brother might _already_ be dead. Though he would not say as much to the thief, he knew how important it was to him. Jack hoped that he was just being pessimistic.

He knew exactly what it felt like to have the desperate desire to save your sibling. He could only pray to every god he never believed in that Lyndon would have a better ending than himself. He _deserved_ a better ending.

“Lyndon! _Slow down_!” Jack called to him as quietly as he could while the thief ran up the empty road, outpacing him for once in his desperation to get to the prison. Jack lagged behind because of the his lingering tiredness. As important as it was to get to his brother in a timely manner, they could not just throw caution to the wind. The streets were still crawling with Malthael's risen soldiers. Lyndon seemed to not hear him as he moved through twists, turns, and alleyways as though he knew the layout of the city like the back of his hand. It was very likely that he _did_. He had spent a summer here after all, and it probably hadn't been his only visit.

At least the wolf kept pace with the thief easily, and Jack felt better knowing that she was there protecting him. After a few minutes, Lyndon stopped and waited for him as they neared the prison.

“We have to hurry.” Lyndon said to him urgently. “You're... _alright_?” He asked with concern.

“Yes, just... a little tired still.” Jack admitted in between pants. “I know we have to hurry, but we also have to be _careful_.” The Demon Hunter warned.

“I know.” Lyndon said simply, but he managed to slow his frantic pace to stay with the hunter. They ran a few minutes more. Thankfully, this part of town seemed to be quite devoid of any undead, and especially the awful phantom light. Perhaps this section was largely ignored? But a darker, more wretched part of him thought that it might have been deserted because there was nothing _left_ here to take.

“Edlin was always the good brother.” Lyndon began quietly as they reached the prison gates. They were locked and Jack was just thinking about the best and most quiet way to blast them open, when they swung open before him, Lyndon having expertly picked the lock in under a minute. He grinned a bit at Jack's surprise, but the smile fell away quickly. He was pale and sweating, still breathing hard from running. Jack had never seen him so anxious and afraid. It made his stomach twist into knots to witness it.

He had _promised_ him, he could _not_ fail in this.

“He never broke a rule in his life... unless he was doing it for _me_.” Lyndon continued in a whisper as they crept through the dark hallways. They had yet to see any guards or any other prisoners and Jack couldn't help but feel a creeping dread.

“You can break the rules and still be good. You taught me that.”

“Ah, so I've corrupted you too, eh?” Lyndon shot back quickly, and though it was dark, Jack's eyes could still see the white smile of his teeth.

There was a torch lit at the end of the hall, and a _man_ standing up ahead in front of a locked cell door. “A guard?” Jack whispered aloud. Perhaps they'd just moved everyone deeper inside to protect their lives... perhaps everything _was_ alright after all. He tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. The wolf peeled her gums back over her teeth and growled, low and dangerous, and he quickly shushed her, confused by her behavior.

“This must be where they're holding Edlin, uhm... just let _me_ do the talking.” Lyndon said quickly as they entered the well lit hall. Jack hung back as the guard noticed him and Lyndon walked up to the man confidently.

“Excuse me my good sir, someone I know is being held prisoner here and-” Lyndon began with his best charming smile, but the words died in his throat as the guard started to _laugh_. Jack's blood crystallized in his veins.

_No!_

“This isn't right!” Jack growled quickly. And the would be guard managed to get his horrible display of mirth under control enough to say, “Ahaha... looking for your _brother_ Lyndon?” He asked nastily and Lyndon's face turned paper white.

“ _What_...?” He asked, as though he didn't quite register what the man had said.

The man laughed again, cold and poisonous, “The Thieves Guild _always_ finds their man!”

With a primal snarl of rage, Jack drew a long blade, quick as lightning, and sliced the man's throat so deep it nearly decapitated him. Blood gushed over the imposter guard's chest as he released a hoarse, wet wheeze of surprise, and keeled over onto the ground. Neither of them paid him any mind as Lyndon had already begun to pick the door lock with shaking hands, practically dropping his tools as he fumbled them in his near useless fingers. The wolf scratched at the door, emitting high pitched barks and whines.

“The Thieves Guild!? _Here_?! Have they infiltrated the _entire_ prison?!” Lyndon snapped frantically.

Jack removed a bloody set of keys from the now dead guard and handed them to Lyndon silently. The thief spun through them, twirling each key over the ring in a miniature storm of spinning metal, and somehow found the right key almost immediately. But Jack could not think on his talents now, he could only stare at all the slain guards on the ground as the door opened to a group of at least fifty men, who had obviously heard the commotion they'd made, and waited for them to walk into the trap.

Lyndon stood in front of him and, for a moment, they all stood still, gazing at each other silently.

“ _There he is!_ _It's Lyndon the traitor!_ ” One thief yelled, and the whole lot of them seemed to move forward at once, they meant to kill them of course, but Jack had _other_ plans.

“ _Your blood will fall like rain_!” Jack screamed. Some of the thieves looked a bit taken aback, but no one ran. This pleased him, he wanted them _all_ to pay. The hunter felt no fear, humans were not a thing to be feared, only a heightened awareness of everything around him as he launched himself into combat. The only fear he felt was for Lyndon's brother's fate, and he buried it deep inside, refusing to allow his black thoughts to distract him from the task at hand.

And the _punishment_ he would deal.

The wolf launched herself forward, Jack saw her out of the corner of his eye, her mouth open, teeth glistening like porcelain in the torchlight. The muscles flexed in her back as her powerful hind legs propelled her up the chest of the nearest man, crumpling him beneath her, he screamed in fear before it was cut off quite suddenly as she messily tore his esophagus out with her teeth.

The Demon Hunter did not draw his crossbows, he would not waste the arrows on these _vermin_ , he only pulled out his second blade, and curved steel met throat over and over and over again. Mortals were child's play in comparison to the denizens of the Burning Hells The vicious side of him, the demonic side, relished the sorely needed practice of melee combat and reveled in the Hellish joy of the vengeance born slaughter.

Lyndon seemed to have followed his example, the crossbow stayed on his back, as he slashed at the thieves guild cronies with his own dagger, growling through his teeth. Jack did his best to kill every last man in their way, allowing Lyndon the chance to search the cells unhindered. As Lyndon opened each prison cell, he grew more and more desperate as all they found were more slain prisoners and dead guards.

And Jack grew more and more _enraged_ at the thieves.

“He must be here _somewhere_ , he has to _be_ here!” Lyndon said anxiously as they left the carnage behind them and ran down the nearby staircase to the level below.

Jack managed to find his voice, “ _We'll find him_.” He grit out, shaking the blood off his blades in two quick flicks of his wrist.

“You can't hide behind your friend this time Lyndon!” A short, fat thief yelled as he hauled himself up the stairs at them, brandishing a short blade. Jack effortlessly kicked him square in the chest and he tumbled backwards down the steps. When they got to him at the bottom, Lyndon finally pulled his crossbow off his back and fired an arrow through his eye, finishing him off.

Downstairs it was empty, save one man.

“Enoch White.” Lyndon said angrily. And the man smiled an evil, humorless smile, he wore the same bandana as Nigel Cutthroat had in the Fields of Misery. The mark of a Thieves Guild assassin.

“Hello Lyndon.” The assassin replied almost amiably, fingering the blade in his hands. "Long time no see."

“Not long enough. Where's my brother?” Lyndon asked quietly, aiming his crossbow at the assassin's face. Jack held the wolf back by the scruff of her neck, preventing her from killing the man before he could tell them anything. And even still he held _himself_ back, the urge to rip the man apart with his bare hands was distinctly intense.

Enoch laughed, “Clever. You and your dear brother, I admit. We were none the wiser that you'd been feeding him information." The assassin continued. "Handsome Lyndon. You always were the best of us, we never even suspected."

"You lot never did have enough brains between you to escape a wet paper bag." Lyndon hissed. "My brother? _Where is he?_ " He asked again through his teeth.

"Don't you know what happens to _traitors_ and their _families_? You of all people should know better than I, you were a higher rank than me, don't you remember? Or have you washed your hands of all your _dirty deeds_?” The assasin growled.

Lyndon's eyes flashed dangerously and he straightened up a little, became a little more _vicious_. Jack hardly recognized him. “Tell me where he is, and I _might_ let you walk away from here.” Lyndon offered evenly, seething with rage.

Enoch laughed. Did they all laugh like _mad men_?

“No one walks away you _fool_.” He cackled, insanely. “You'll both die for what you did to the Guild, and to _Nigel!_ Traitors _never_ get away from us!” Enoch screamed and then ran at them, blades drawn. Jack released the wolf and she fell upon him, tearing at him with her dagger-sharp fangs.

“Tell us where he is and I'll call her off.” Jack snarled at him. It wouldn't have mattered even if he did stop her, she'd already severed the vein in his throat, he would die soon.

And still the bastard _laughed_.

“He's..... dead.... _traitor_....” The assassin murmured around the blood filling his mouth. “We..... ne...ver stop.... hun...ting....See.... your... face.... when.... you... _see_ -” But whatever vile thing he was going to say next was cut off when the wolf crushed his neck in her jaws.

“WHERE'S MY _BROTHER_?” Lyndon screamed once more in a rage, shaking the assassin as he continued to bleed out onto the floor. But he was already dead.

Jack tore his eyes away from the grisly scene and looked around them, it was small room and well lit, it was easy to see inside each of the cells there. They were all empty, save one that contained a man who lay still in a pool of long ago dried blood.

And when he saw that body lying there, he _knew_ , and all anger fled his body like wind through an open window, along with any hope of keeping his promise and making things right for his dearest friend.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

When Lyndon saw the body of his brother, the light had left his eyes and Jack's heart had ached at the sight. Now Lyndon looked as though he'd never smile again. In two short hours, everything had fallen apart. 

Jack's first instinct was to stop the thief before he entered that cell, to protect his heart and spare him the sight of what he knew to be his brother's corpse, but it was not the right thing to do and it would not change anything.

Lyndon had gotten up and stumbled numbly over to the only occupied cell after he had followed the hunter's gaze.

" _Edlin!_ ” And it was confirmed to Jack, crushing the last hope he had that it could have been someone else. _Anyone_ else. And Lyndon took in a shaky breath then, “He's...” He tossed his crossbow aside carelessly and went weak in the legs. He fell to his knees by his brother's body and Jack felt his heart clench in tightened agony.

I'm so _sorry_ Lyndon." Jack managed to say. And he _was_ sorry, he had never been more sorry for anything in his entire wretched life, except for perhaps his failure to his own sibling. This was not how it was supposed to be! _Not for him!_ Jack had _promised_ him! And he had _failed_. He acutely felt the sudden weight of that failure crash down on him like collapsing debris, he found it suddenly became difficult to stand upright.

"I should never have joined the Thieves Guild..." The scoundrel whispered, throat tight. "He tried to tell me but I wouldn't listen..."

"His death.... was _not_ your fault.” Jack insisted. “He was slain before we even arrived in Westmarch." The hunter said, noticing how long the man had been dead for.

 _Why was he killed days before? Why not in right in front of Lyndon? Wouldn't that have hurt him more? And they were trying to hurt him, that's what this was about wasn't it?_ Jack thought to himself, protective instinct and rage spiraling out of control so quickly he was almost dizzy with it.

"That dagger... looks _very_ familiar." Lyndon breathed. There was hate in his voice then, pure and burning. It was not something Jack ever wanted to hear from him.

It made him feel _sick_.

"Take it with you." Jack said quietly to him. They would find the ones responsible if it was _not_ the thieves they had slain today. Lyndon would not look at him. His eyes were fixed on his brother's body.

"Burn him. We have to burn him." Lyndon muttered quickly, voice taking on a manic note. "Can't let anyone have him, not that _shit_ Malthael. No one."

"We can't now. We'll have to come back. I know it is hard, but we _must_ go." They were not safe here. Jack offered his hand to the scoundrel, but he appeared to have gone numb, into shock, and didn't register what Jack was doing. The Demon Hunter realized that it hadn't quite fully hit him yet, but he didn't want them to be here when it did.

Sick with sorrow for his friend (lover?) he quickly grabbed the discarded crossbow, knelt down next to Lyndon and grasped his hand, threading their fingers together tightly. He buried his other hand in the fur of the wolf so that she would not be left behind. Jack made a mental promise to retrieve the body and activated the amulet, triggering the portal to get them away from this Hell.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone was confused, 'Rosie Palm and her five sisters' is making reference to his hand and five fingers, and is a slang term for masturbation. A bit of a modern phrase I think, but I found it hilarious.
> 
> Next chapter coming up very quickly. 5 and 6 were originally going to be one chapter but it ran so damned long I made the decision to split it up.


	6. Brother Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More epic sad, or at least I hope it's written well enough to be.

_Close, low bright eyes fading_  
_Faster than stars falling_  
_How can I tell you I failed?_  
_Tell you I failed_  
— _Oblivion_ , Mastodon

 

Lyndon was quiet when they appeared in the enclave in a flash of blue light. His face was ashen and he held the knife that he had pulled from his brother's back in his hand like a talisman. Jack didn't know what to do, didn't know what to _say_. He knew how deeply Lyndon had loved his brother and how desperately he had wanted to make things right. Having failed to save him would worsen his guilt to an unbearable degree, how would he recover from this? _Could_ he even recover? The Demon Hunter had never felt more frightened for him, or more useless.

Jack knew the pain of losing a much loved sibling intimately, he could not bear to see such a youthfully spirited person like Lyndon suffer that _unbearable_ grief.

Kormac reached them immediately, "What _happened_? Did you find-" And he stopped dead when he caught sight of Lyndon's face.

Jack would not let go of the thief's hand, though Lyndon would periodically pull hard to try to free himself from his grip. “Lyndon.” He said quickly, ignoring the Templar for the moment, and Eirena who had come to his side. “ _Please_ don't blame yourself for this... Nothing good will come of it.”

Lyndon seemed to snap out of his numbness then and rounded on him, “What do you _want_ me to say? That I wish he'd never known me? That I wish he'd had a brother that didn't _fail_ him?” Lyndon yelled at him with a hint of mad desperation. Jack realized then that they must have both looked _quite_ insane, holding hands, shouting at each other and dripping blood from over fifty slaughtered men.

“That you carry the weight of grief.” Jack answered him.

“ _Grief_. That's a good one. You left _your_ grief behind when you became a _noble hero_.” Lyndon hissed at him furiously, and Jack narrowed his eyes at the harsh words. “You don't understand the rest of us anymore.” He finished in a hateful whisper, a twisting knife in the hunter's heart.

"You know full well that I _do_ understand. My _sister_... _I know-_." Jack tried to whisper, but he couldn't control the volume of his voice and everyone who was near could hear them anyway.

"No... You _don't_." The thief continued, miserably, closing his eyes for brief seconds, and giving another hard, unsuccessful pull to free himself from the hunter's grip. "That wasn't _your_ fault." He ground out, "You were fourteen and scared and your sister ran from you. You blame yourself, but it wasn't _your fault_." He muttered, "This however, _is_ my fault, _I_ made this happen, _I_ as good as planted the knife in his back myself. _I_ failed him." He said and there were tears beginning to well in his eyes, even as he spat the words in vicious self hatred. "What am _I_ going to tell Rea? That _I_ as good as killed her husband? That _I've_ made their children, my _family_ , fatherless?" Lyndon screwed up his face in pain, and closed his eyes for a few seconds, blinking back tears.

Jack didn't know what to say. His mind had gone blank of anything he could say that would be of any comfort. He just stood there silently. Uselessly.

"I need- I need to _go_. I want to be _alone_." Lyndon ground out, and Jack released him, and watched him run away from him, grabbing his bag as he passed their possessions, escaping deep into the cathedral. The great wolf took off after him, a few strides behind.

"What happened?" Kormac asked again in the ensuing quiet.

"As if it weren't _obvious_ Kormac, His brother is dead." Jack muttered angrily, feeling wretched.

“I knew _that_ much, I just... the thieves guild?" Kormac asked, sorrow in his voice. Eirena was already in tears, and Kormac put an arm around her small shoulders without hesitation.

"I-I'm not entirely sure... He was killed before we even came to Westmarch and he was difficult to identify... it seems _wrong_ , but please, we _can't_ tell Lyndon. We can't get his hopes up that it was someone else who merely _looked_ like Edlin..." Jack explained tiredly.

"We understand." Kormac answered for Eirena, who was wiping at her eyes. “Jack, you should come sit down, you look terribly _weary_....” Kormac tried to tell him, but Jack wasn't really listening to him. He walked away to ask Tyrael about the stone and was disappointed to hear that there was nothing new to report. If ever he needed a distraction, it was now. He had half a mind to go out into the city and just kill whatever he found, but that would be foolish. Tyrael seemed to know what had happened and told Jack that he was sorry, but the Demon Hunter could only nod numbly. He avoided Lorath's heavy gaze as well.

He could see Eirena, Kormac, Haedrig and Myriam sitting together around the fire and glancing at him. But he did not want to go talk to them. Shen was nowhere to be seen, and most of the survivors had gone inside the church somewhere to sleep out of the elements. He wondered what time it was. Had they really just been riding Haedrig's caravan this morning? How could everything go so _horribly_ wrong in less than a day?

Not sure of what else to do, and too distraught to sit still, Jack began to pace again, letting his thoughts spin.

That dagger Lyndon found... he'd said it had looked familiar to him but he didn't seem to remember from where he'd seen it, or if he did, he didn't want to say. Jack wondered if it could perhaps point them in the right direction to find who had _really_ killed Edlin. Blades often had identifying marks, and if Lyndon recognized it so immediately, that meant that it was more than just a standard blade. Perhaps Haedrig could have a look at it and tell them who the maker was or where it might have been sold, if he could just  _convince_ Lyndon to talk to the blacksmith instead of-

He had a sudden, _horrifying_ thought, and ran to the enchantress.

"Eirena! Lyndon I- he has the _dagger_ that killed his brother... I don't know what he'll _do_." Jack stammered at her fretfully while she stared at him wide-eyed like she didn't even recognize him.

"Is he still here? He hasn't gone _far_?" Jack asked her breathlessly, knowing that she was often able to sense these things. He needed to know where the thief was _right now_.

She sniffed and wiped her eyes, closing them a moment and concentrating while Jack waited with bated breath. "N-no. No, I can feel him. He is still in the cathedral, south of us." She answered hesitantly.

“Thank you.” He said quickly and ran from them, deep into the church.

After the attack on his village, he had tried to keep going for his sister's sake, but when he'd lost Halissa... he had simply given up. He'd lain in the center of town for more than a day waiting for death to take him back to his family. It seemed to be only by sheer dumb _luck_ that the Demon Hunters had found him or he wouldn't even be alive today. And even after that when Leah... Jack swallowed.

When Leah had died, he once again contemplated ending it. It was like failing his sister all over again. He had thought he should throw himself from the tower, but there had been too much left that he needed to do. Too many people alive who were still relying on him. Only vengeance had kept him going after that... and then the friendship he had with his companions had suddenly become more important.

Would Lyndon give up as he had? Would he be capable of taking his own life? He was not a creature of hate and revenge as Jack was. Would he attempt to leave the city even still, and die out in the streets?

The hunter found Lyndon rather easily despite everything, but only because he could hear the wolf whining. And a slurred snap from the scoundrel after, “ _Shattup_ will you?!” and then a shattering of broken glass and increased whimpers. The thief was sitting in an abandoned pew, the wolf laid out on the bench next to him, flattening her ears and perking them up again rhythmically. The thief was currently working his way through a _third_ bottle of wine, the other two lay in glittering pieces around him. Jack stared at him, he had only been gone for about a half an hour. To have drunk so much so quickly... He was binging, to get as drunk as he could, as fast as possible. But Gods, at least he hadn't _killed_ himself...

Yet.

Jack approached him carefully with quiet steps, the stench of alcohol assaulted him as though he'd walked into a brewery. His boot crunched on broken glass and Lyndon looked up. “Is'sat Jacky? Eugh, go ' _way_... 'm gettin'  _drunk_ an' m'not _sharin'_.” The scoundrel slurred, accent gone thick.

“I don't want to share. I want you to talk to Haedrig and see what he has to say about that dagger.” Jack said hotly.

“Oh _give it a rest_!” He hissed at him. “Th' bloody _Thieves'Guild_ killed my brotha'.” Lyndon muttered angrily.

“You're making an assumption, that's _dangerous_.” Jack said evenly, watching him take another deep pull from the bottle.

“Liss'ning to _you_... is dangerous.” Lyndon accused.

“So you don't _care_ to know what really happened?” Jack snapped at him.

“No. I care 'bout _drinking_. Until I rem'ber _nothin'_.” He mumbled miserably with a hiccup. Jack felt his chest constrict painfully at his words.

“Lyndon, I _really_ think-” The hunter began again.

The knife slipped from the scoundrel's fingers to the ground with an audible clatter. “Jus' _take_  th' damn thing then. I don' care.  _I don' want t'look at it anymore_.” Lyndon whispered with a hitch in his breath.

Jack stared at him, feeling distinctly helpless.

"What am I going t' _tell_ her? Oh _Gods,_ what m' I going to tell 'er?" He whispered hoarsely. He sucked in a shuddering breath and brought his hands to his face and curled in on himself with a moan.

" _Go away. I don't_ want _you here. Please go'way._ " Lyndon begged him wretchedly.

"No." Jack said softly, he would not leave him alone like this. He _could_ not.

Then Lyndon began to cry.

Jack felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped on him, everything went cold and numb and all the air was forced from his lungs. He was completely stunned by the grief that had taken hold of the rogue and stood there staring stupidly, unable to move in his shock.

He had no thoughts, no plans, no answers. He didn't know what to do at all.

At first they were nearly silent, too big to come properly, but then the cries were awful, ugly things that came from deep in his chest and shook him completely. Lyndon gasped in his pain, uncaring of where he was or who was watching, utterly consumed by the agony of having his only family torn from him. A person could only take so much heartbreak before it killed them.

Jack knew this all too well.

He snapped out of his paralysis, suddenly in control of himself and compelled to act. He no longer cared what anyone thought about the two of them. He didn't care who saw. He didn't know what they were to each other but he didn't feel afraid or nervous to touch him anymore, he wouldn't _allow_ himself to be. The only thing that mattered to him at that moment was finding a way to stop the pain that was killing the man in front of him. No one had been there for him when he had pulled Halissa's cold corpse from the river, and he would _not_ allow Lyndon to go through the desolate agony of grieving alone.

To _Hell_ with what anyone else thought.

Jack knelt in front of him, heedless of the broken glass that crunched beneath his knees and pulled Lyndon into his arms with a desperate quickness. He brought the man's face to the crook of his neck, and held him tightly. _"Hush now, I've got you."_ He murmured to him breathlessly.

 _"My fault."_ Lyndon sobbed into his throat, clutching at the demon hunter with desperate fingers.

"It wasn't." Jack said with conviction against the side of his head. The smell of alcohol burning his nose slightly.

"It should've been _me_." Lyndon continued, voice thick with tears.

"Don't say such a thing!" Jack answered fiercely. "Don't _ever_ say that."

" _He died hating me_." The thief moaned.

"He loved you still, I'm sure of it." The hunter couldn't know, but to agree to such a terrible thought was simply not an option.

"I _killed_ him." The thief moaned, as if he hadn't heard Jack. " _IkilledhimIkilledhimI-_ " his agonized cries somehow worsened to near hysteria and the rogue pressed against him and fell apart.

It had been many years since Jack had comforted someone in this way, he wasn't sure if he even remembered _how_ . He had held his sister when she'd cried, every night in the forest. The nauseating fear of that first night that they would be sniffed out and torn apart. The _horrible_ grief. Halissa crying for their mother and father over and over again. He heard her even still in his dreams. He had tried to keep her quiet, they had _needed_ to hide. What had he done to soothe her pain? He had tried so hard to forget because remembering had hurt so badly at times he could hardly breathe. Eventually, his body recalled what his mind had forgotten and he started to rock him like a child, murmuring soft words to him.

Jack felt distinctly ill as hot tears ran down his neck and soaked his tunic. He got his fingers under the back of the man's shirt and stroked at the skin there, moving his hand up under the fabric as far as he could. The other hand he threaded into glossy brown hair, fingers moving slightly in the warm, silky strands. Jack closed his eyes and they sat for what felt like hours. The cries didn't even slow until an undetermined length of time had passed, becoming pathetic wails and gasps while Lyndon shivered through each convulsive draw of breath, and Jack's heart hardened to so much lead in his chest.

The Demon Hunter had wanted to save Lyndon from becoming as desolate in his soul as he himself was, and he had failed horribly. He felt sick. His very _heart_ was sick.

_They did this._

A creeping, poisonous hatred for whoever had done this to Lyndon. To _both of them,_ crawled under his skin like a swarm of ants _._ He tightened his grip on the thief slightly in an effort to control himself. His body smoked, and his eyes kindled red fire, glittering jewels, mined from the crystal veins of Hell. His demonic blood practically _boiled_ , such was the strength of his anger. He vowed that whoever had done this to his dearest friend, would die a slow, _slow_ death. They would _suffer,_ and _burn_ , and they would die _screaming_. At that moment he had half a mind to drop everything and go to Kingsport _right then_ , dismantle the entire thieves guild, torch every black, filthy, rat's nest _hole_ they hid themselves in and put an arrow through the throat of every last man until they were all _choking_ on _death_ -

He shuddered, coming back to himself. He had too much to think about and be responsible for to even entertain an idea so _horridly_ insane. Was he now just as bad as what Valla had been? Slaughtering mere men for joy and  _revenge_? Directionless killing was not the way of humans, that was something for demons alone.

( _Hatebegetsterrorbegetsdestructionbegets_ -)

If his father could _see_ him now... would his mother and sister have screamed at the very _sight_ of him? He took a slow breath and banished the thought before it broke him.

They needed to get out of here, this was an awful, cold, and empty place to drown one's sorrows. The gods were not watching anyway.

Jack got the thief to put his arms around his neck and hauled him up off the bench. Lyndon had exhausted his tears and had passed out from the drink, snuffling against his throat. It was better that he had, the hunter thought. He didn’t want him to cry anymore, and if Lyndon could sleep it off then... all the better. Jack stood there a moment, he wasn't quite sure where he could take him to sleep in privacy better then what the grassy courtyard of the enclave provided.

Just as he was considering finding an abandoned house somewhere in the city, he heard a familiar voice.

“Celdo, take him to my caravan, he can sleep there.” It was Myriam.

Jack's overwhelming first instinct was to get away from her. He would _not_ trust another witch again. But she seemed sincere enough in her words and Jack did not sense from her what he had felt from Adria, and he looked _thoroughly_ this time.

So he followed, the wolf trailing behind him.

He didn't look at anyone in camp, focused instead on the man he held in his arms. Jack made a beeline for the Vecin woman's caravan. She let him in first and followed silently behind him. Jack had just enough presence of mind to notice how _large_ it seemed to be when he got inside. Haedrig's living space was not nearly so big. Some kind of magic perhaps? Or just an architectural illusion? He didn't know. Didn't even care really. He got most of the thief's outer clothes and boots off, and tucked him into bed.

He stared at him a moment, lying there asleep. His face pale, yet flushed from drunkenness and streaked with tears.

Tired. Desolate. Defeated.

"Thank you." Jack said to the mystic sincerely and moved toward the door. If he didn't get outside to breathe, he would surely suffocate under the crushing weight of his own failure.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Jack sat down on the steps outside the caravan heavily and dropped his head into his hands, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes until they ached, and stars sparkled in his vision. He wondered if he would feel better if he could cry. Likely not. This was why he tried to keep everyone at arm's length. It only made things harder. To care for Lyndon so much had been a mistake, he had so much to be responsible for. An entire _world_ was relying on him to save it all over again and every distraction made it that much harder.

Sometimes he wished that it wasn't just him alone who was the only one who could do it. But such thoughts were only a waste of time. He had to do it, simply because there _was_ no one else.

A sudden light lit up the sky like high noon, and there was the distant boom and reverberation of an explosion. _Gods what now_?! He was on his feet and running to Tyrael before the tremors in the ground had stopped. He could smell fire and there were people screaming in terror.

“Tyrael! What's happened?!” He shouted as everyone gathered at the edge of the iron fence and gazing out in horror as the Westmarch Heights were set ablaze.

“Urzael has done this to finish collecting the souls of Westmarch!” Tyrael moaned with despair, “I should never have let him leave the Silver City...”

“It's not your fault Tyrael, you could not have known.” Jack said to him quickly.

The stress of everything happening at once was suddenly so overwhelming it became hard to breathe, but he reminded himself there was no one else who could accept the task. At the very least, it could be a distraction and an outlet for all his buried rage. The thought brought him little pleasure, but he seethed and allowed anger to reign anyway, because it was far better to feel that than hopelessness.

“ _Where can I find him?_ ” He growled and Myriam was there beside him again. “All I can tell you is that he is in a tower somewhere in the Westmarch Heights, and that he will be quite rude to you.”

“Fine. Is there anything else?” Jack asked impatiently, “He apparently has an affinity for fire and he has three servants of his own setting fire to the city. I'd leave that much-loved cloak behind if I were you, it might get burned.”

“Yes, that is wise.” The Demon Hunter replied, already pulling off his cloak.

“Be careful Jack, Urzael has been Malthael's personal servant since the dawn of creation. He will not be so easily defeated.” Tyrael warned.

“If I can kill the Prime Evil, then I can kill _him_.” Jack answered confidently, and ran back to gather the items he would need.

Eirena and Kormac met up with him quickly from... wherever they had been. They were looking at him like they didn't know him anymore. He must have looked terrible.

“Jack! What has happened?!” Eirena frantic shouts could barely be heard over the screams of the other people in the Enclave.

“Urzael. I will go.” He said quickly, grabbing a scarf and soaking it with water before he wrapped it around his face, carefully covering his mouth and nose. The smoke would likely be thick and he needed to be able to breathe to fight.

“Of course, we will _accompany_ you-” Kormac began firmly.

“No. These people have no one to protect them if we all go. Tyrael is still suffering the pain from Malthael's attack and will not be enough on his own. Please I need you both _here_.” He explained as they stared at him in disbelief.

“But you _cannot_ do this on your own, we must-” Eirena began insistently.

“I can and I will. _Please_. Do this for me.” He begged quietly and, as an afterthought, grabbed a fistful of Lyndon's cold enchanted arrows. They might be useful.

“Alright. Please... be careful.” Eirena said, and she looked for a moment as though she might cry, and then she _was_ , and it was _his_ fault. Jack grasped her hand a moment before releasing it. “I always am.” He said, and left them so they could calm the survivors before a full scale panic broke out.

Kormac and Eirena would be safer away from him anyway, and he desperately wanted to be alone with his hatred. He was planning on decimating _every single_ _godsforsaken thing_ in his path, and then he would slaughter Urzael like the squealing _pig_ he would make of him. Maybe after that he would feel a bit better, but he really _doubted_ it.

He silently took his crossbows from Haedrig's outstretched hands and made to leave, stopped, then turned and went back to Myriam's caravan instead. The wolf sat outside silently and he told her to stay. He went inside the wagon home quickly, cloak in hand. Jack told himself that it would be another blanket for the thief, to comfort him, but he knew that he really just wanted to see him one more time before he went out into the inferno. He intended to come back, as he always did, but no one could know the future.

Well, _almost_ no one.

He looked at Lyndon laying there asleep on his side as he had been before. Not even the explosion had woken him. There was also the addition of a bucket by the bed in case he awoke and needed to be sick. Jack had never seen anyone drink so much and _not_ be sick.

Jack brushed his fingertips over the thief's head hesitantly, and he hoped it would not be the last time. He was acutely aware of the tunic clinging to his skin under his armor, damp with tears. And he wondered if they could ever climb out of this Hell.

He went outside to meet his task.

 


	7. Burn

_What remorseless emperor commands me_  
_I no longer govern my soul_  
_I am completely immersed in darkness_  
_As I turn my body away from the sun_  
― _Blood and Thunder_ , Mastodon

 

The smoke from the fires was thicker than a fog and stung his eyes, causing them to water endlessly. The heat was intense and he sweat in his leather armor. Being out on his own, he only had to worry about himself and there was a vague relief that came with that, knowing that he did not have to keep his eyes on his companions at all times. But at the same time, it felt wrong. He had grown so accustomed to having Lyndon by his side, and listening to him prattle on about whatever little thing amused him, that Jack started to wonder how he had ever managed so long in the quiet.

But it wasn't quite as quiet as he hoped it would be.

Screaming. He could hear people screaming for help from a nearby building and he detoured inside quickly. He kicked open the locked door, thinking that the people had merely been trapped inside the burning house, but he was met with Knights of Westmarch, running in horror from a reaper that turned them all to skeletons before his eyes. Enraged, he killed them all with endless shots from his crossbows, but there was no joy in their deaths.

Back in the streets, he suddenly caught sight of something coming up the road, a veritable wall of fire in the form of something that _walked_. He pressed himself between two buildings and stood very still in the dark space there. As the living flame approached, he was able to identify it. A Death Maiden, but she was _different._ What was an ethereal blue had become a burning orange, hotter than the mouth of any stove, or indeed any _bonfire_. Her feet touched the ground like the other maidens had not allowed of themselves, her graceful footsteps leaving a path of flame that licked up the side of the buildings on either side of her like so many burning tongues. She did not notice him inn his hiding place and he took full advantage of that small window of opportunity.

He drew two of Lyndon's frozen arrows in his hand and it loaded one into each crossbow with the speed and precision of a seasoned master. Then he fired at her. What was two arrows became two thousand, and the cold pierced her magical flesh, hardening the fire of her body to a steely black that became brittle and breakable. The next round of bolts shattered her now fragile frame into pieces, and her screams as she died brought him some small sense of accomplishment.

The hunter heard yells again and hoped that this time he would make it before it was too late. He crossed the now fire filled street and burst into the home. He immediately spotted a red haired girl standing there with a sword in her hand, and that brave girl, to her credit, turned and faced him with a courage he had not possessed at her age.

“ _Stay back monster!_ ” She screamed. He could scarcely imagine what he looked like to her. Jack pulled his scarf off quickly, revealing to her that he was just a man.

“I'm here to help you child!” He shouted over the roar of flames.

She looked at him then like she _recognized_ him then. “You're the hero of Bastion's Keep! Hurry, we have to save my friend from the monsters!”

He did not ask her how she could know him, he only followed her up the stairs into the bedroom, firelight glowing through every window. A reaper was there, hacking at a bed and Jack destroyed it almost as soon as he spotted it. In the ensuing quiet a boy crawled out from under the bed that he recognized immediately.

“It's _you_!” Said the blonde haired boy from Bastion's Keep, “I knew... somehow I _knew_ you would come.”

Jack did his best to smile at him, “Yes, it's good to see you again, but there's no time to talk now. I'm going to activate this amulet so you can get out of here. When you arrive at the enclave of the church please give it back to Eirena, you remember her don't you?” Jack explained quickly, activating the amulet and creating a portal.

“I remember, but what about you?” The boy asked, and the red haired girl nodded quickly, staring at him with eyes as big as saucers.

“Don't worry about me. I'll see you when I get back, now _go_!” Jack found himself promising and he watched them disappear through the portal, and then the glowing blue orb collapsed in on itself, leaving only a stain of shimmering arcane dust behind.

Well, it would be a longer walk back, but he'd endured far worse. The hunter left the home immediately after he made sure that Captain Haile was not trapped somewhere inside. He hoped the man had somehow made it out alive. He re-wrapped the scarf carefully before running back out into the streets.

Any good feelings he'd had from successfully saving the lives of those two children were immediately destroyed by the sight of a woman standing in the street. Burning alive. She made not a sound, too suffocated by the air consuming fire to scream. He killed her quickly, but took no relief from her death, knowing that her soul likely hadn't escaped Malthael's clutches.

He was able to kill two more of the flaming death maidens the same way he had before, then he caught sight of a tower. The roof was partly destroyed. It was the only tower he could see in the Heights so he knew it _had_ to be the right one.

The Tower of Korelan, he read on the crown molding above the doorway, was now creaking and groaning as fire had begun to eat it from the outside in. Jack ran inside quickly, through the empty hallway and climbed the spiraling staircase carefully. The old building likely didn't have long before it would be completely ablaze, he didn't want to waste a single moment. As he reached the large attic of the tower, he was met with with a distressing view of the Heights, and he could see the buildings were all burning up around the tower. A circle of hungry fire.

That was when Urzael landed through the ceiling.

He was a great hulking monster, not unlike the creature that had nearly killed him and Lyndon out in the streets earlier in the evening. He was heavily shielded in armor Jack recognized as Heaven forged and his blue wings, comically small on his huge muscular frame, reminded him of the light from Tyrael's sword. He carried some sort of tube of metal in his great hands, adorned with a demon's mouth, Jack did not know what it was, but he likened that it was probably  _not_ good.

“ _Nephalem_.” Urzael addressed him, his voice like crackling wood. “ _My master has already begun his work on the stone. Nothing you do matters._ ” And he ignited his body, the gently undulating blue of his wings burned away to columns of smoke as his body engulfed itself in molten fire, the heat that pulsed from him washed over Jack like a desert wind.

But the hunter had gone beyond the point of fear long ago. It was just the two of them here and Jack intended on being the _only_ one who would walk away.

“You will die for what you have done.” He said dangerously, his own body beginning to smoke as he let his demonic blood run freely in his veins, and took aim with his crossbows.

“ _Filthy_ _demonspawn_!” The burning servant spat at him in rage, “ _Soon you and your wretched kin will be gone forever!_ ” and that tube of metal roared to life in Urzael's hands, sending a dripping, molten fireball rocketing out at him.

Jack just barely tumbled out of the way, landing several yards away on his feet, and the great ball of fire struck the entrance way, setting the door, the way out and even the entire wall alight.

The heat became almost unbearable then, hotter than any temperature he had ever experienced. Jack knew that he was not yet on fire, but the heat was so intense that he felt as though he  _could_ have been. Urzael leaped at him and Jack vaulted away again, finally loosing arrows upon the vile thing with the frozen bolts. The flaming creature landed heavily on the floor, splintering the fragile wood and leaving fire in his wake.

Urzael screamed with rage and pain as the arrows left blackened, steaming craters in his flesh, and he fired from that awful metal cannon over and over until almost the entire room was an inferno. The rafters above Jack, sticks of fire, had begun to collapse down around him, and he ran to the edge of the room, sucking a mouthful of much needed air from the window. He fired again as he held his breath, bolts hitting hard and pinging off the great iron bell on the opposite side of the tower attic. The massive bell had begun to warp from the intense heat and the Demon Hunter began to think about the very real possibility that he could _die_ here.

Jack couldn't _breathe_ , it was too hot and his eyes felt like they might boil in his skull. The fire stole all the air from him to fuel itself. He could barely see through the acrid smoke and his fingers swam in the sweat that filled his gloves, his digits slipping on the triggers, but still he fired-

-and finally, Urzael began to _die_.

He'd have to remember to congratulate Lyndon on the admiral job he had done of enchanting his arrows. His talent was currently saving Jack's life. He might just _kiss_ him, he thought, if he lived through this to see him again.

As Urzael screamed, his molten blood spilling all over the rapidly igniting floor, Jack started to think of how he could get out of this. Fire poured from the way he had entered in, hotter than the rivers of Hell, he would have to get out onto the roof. Finally the angel was dead, the light of life leaving his body as he crumpled into so much melting steel.

Then it became suddenly dark and all the heat was sucked out like a gust of arctic wind.

Malthael. No. A shade of him stood before Jack. A dark angular figure with twin reaping blades ending in a point so sharp it was difficult to even see. Within that steel colored, pointed hood was a black beckoning darkness as deep as the doorway of a tomb. An awful void. His wings spread out like the bones of bat wings, grey and smoky. Then the horrible apparition spoke:

“ _Nephalem, I will bring an end to conflict. In death there is peace._ ”

With a snarl, Jack fired at the angel but his bolts passed right through him like air, then Malthael's shade vanished and the room was _burning_. Thinking quickly, the hunter climbed out onto the roof. He sucked what little air there was greedily and looked over the edge of the building. A courtyard, hundreds of feet below. A fall from this height would kill him for sure. He nearly despaired then, thinking that he was done. But then he checked the other side of the crumbling roof and rejoiced, the black water of the Westmarch Canal flowed below him.

There was no hesitation. He jumped from the roof in a graceful arc.

He fell for mere seconds through seemingly solid smoke, then plunged into dark, frozen water. It was a shock, but for a moment it felt _good_ , a distinct relief from that overwhelming heat. But then his extremities quickly began to go numb and he clawed his way to the surface, coughing and gasping the cool air like a drowning man.

A drowned man he would be if he did not get out of this damned _water_.

Pushing his way past bloated, sodden, bodies that drifted slowly in the gentle current, Jack swam as best he could for many minutes, aiming for the tunnel he could see ahead of him. A sewer. He cursed his taloned boots, great for traction as they were on the ground, they were nearly useless for swimming and he stroked his arms through the water frantically to compensate.

Bird feet _indeed_.

He reached a wall low enough for him to climb, and he dragged himself out of the cold water gratefully. Trembling, he pulled his scarf off, wringing the water from it as best he could, then tossed it back over his shoulder. His hair was slicked to his head with water and he shivered suddenly in the cold. Not that he _missed_ the fires or anything, but for once it wouldn't hurt to be a comfortable temperature.

He spied a doorway a bit further down the curved pipeline and, seeing no other way out, made for it. “The Repository” he read, the words etched into the stone. He remembered seeing another door that said the exact same thing not very far from the cathedral. Perhaps he could get there through here? He entered it, weapons drawn.

At first he was grateful the place seemed to be lit, by great, _warm_ furnaces, likely fueled by the fires above, but then he saw the mountains and mountains of _bones_. Piled haphazardly like pyramids of death, and wished he couldn't see so well.

“What a _charming_ place I've found.” He said aloud to himself. It was something Lyndon would have said, and the thought made his chest start to hurt.

He took a precious minute to warm himself near a furnace, trembling tiredly. He waited until heat moved sluggishly back into his hands before he moved on, so they would not be too numb to fire his weapons. He felt exhaustion biting at him and the cold was making him slow.

He walked through that dead place for what felt like hours, the musty smell of old bones was revolting, but he was too grateful to be alive to think much on it. And besides, he'd smelled far worse.

He thought he might feel better after killing Malthael's servant, but he didn't feel much better at all. The only good that came of it was that Westmarch was now safe. The rest of the world was still under siege and there was nowhere on Sanctuary that wasn't under siege. He could only be in one place at a time and the stress and frustration of being unable to help was almost unbearable.

And Lyndon's brother was _still_ dead.

After a time, he found that the skeletons that lined that twisting catacombs weren't entirely dead after all. And the sewer rats had gotten... _much_ bigger. He killed the creatures effortlessly, thanking whatever God that may have existed and could have been listening that it was easy. He needed it to be easy or he would have likely collapsed down here, a dinner for those horrid humanoid rat creatures and their crawling skeletal minions.

Gods, could _nothing_ stay dead in this wretched world?

He spotted the exit before him and sighed in relief. But before he could drag his weary self up the stairs, he noticed a glow of blue light that quickly revealed itself to be a skeletal dog. He aimed his crossbows at it tiredly, thinking that it would likely attack him at any moment. But it didn't. It merely stomped it's little skeleton paws on the bones at its feet and wiggled its rump energetically. It looked like a bulldog of some kind. Something stocky. As Jack stared at it, it barked at him excitedly in a rasping, clicking wheeze. A pathetic sound and, feeling a bit sorry for it, he gave it a tired pat on its bony head.

It wasn't evil. Just dead like everything else here. It followed him when he left, and he didn't try to stop it.

It was nearly dawn when he finally managed to stumble back into the enclave.

Eirena and Kormac accosted him immediately, asking for details, whether or not he was alright, and what exactly _was_ that dead thing following him, and other such exhausting questions. Jack was simply too tired to give them any answers at the moment. He could only tell them that Urzael was dead and that Malthael was going to do something to the Soulstone.

And that he was going to go _lie down_.

They let him go and he dragged himself first to his bag of possessions, then back to Myriam's caravan, knowing that eyes were on him, but he was far too tired to care. The she-wolf was sitting outside the caravan silently, just where he'd left her and Jack stroked her ears in thanks. The ghost dog... thing, sat itself neatly next to her, and they sat there together, looking at him. He thought it was a bit _bizarre_ , but decided to leave it alone.

Jack saw the two children he had saved sitting with Eirena by the fire as she spooned out food for them, and he waved at them. Glad they had made it back safely.

Inside, Lyndon was still asleep, heavily sedated by alcohol. Myriam was nowhere to be seen. Shivering, Jack tried to get his wet armor off, and found that the metal fastenings had melted and fused together. Mildly annoyed, he drew a knife and just cut the damn things off, leaving it all in a damp pile on the floor. He'd have to get Haedrig to fix them.

 _Tomorrow_.

Giving a last look around to make sure Myriam was indeed _not_ at home, Jack changed into a pair of dry pants and a worn tunic. He shoo'd the fattest cat he'd ever seen off the bed -and Gods, a bed had never looked so _good_ \- before he crawled gratefully under the heavy blankets beside the sleeping thief.

Jack felt only slightly guilty of depriving the old Vecin woman of her bed, but she _had_ offered them the space for Lyndon to sleep in relative privacy. He pulled the scoundrel close, grateful for the warmth, and buried his face into the man's hair, trying to get the smell of burning flesh and mountains of deteriorated bones out of his nostrils. Lyndon smelled good, sandalwood and calfskin, under the lingering mist of alcohol. The familiarity of it calmed him immediately, his heart stopped pounding and his breathing slowed, though the shivering took a bit longer to stop. Soothed by his presence, Jack passed out into a heavy sleep.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

“If you keep wiggling the bait like that Lyndy, the crabs will _never_ come.” Edlin, about sixteen then, chided him gently. He was leaning against the dock post beside him, taller, broader in the shoulders, observing as Lyndon, barely fifteen and beanpole skinny, carefully waited for a crab to enter the basket trap he'd set under the dock.

“I know what I'm doing! Have a little _faith_!” Lyndon snapped back at his brother, who laughed. He had been tempting it with a piece of rotten fish on a string but it didn't seem to be interested. Even still he kept trying. He was just so damned _hungry_ and his mouth watered at the thought of steamed crab.

He breathed in the scent of the ocean and basked in the warmth of summer. The temptation to dangle his bare feet in the cool water was strong, but then he knew he'd _never_ get the crab.

His brother sighed over the sound of the flapping gold and red Kingsport banners that whipped in the breeze. “My guard training starts tomorrow, are those men still trying to recruit you for the... _guild_?” Edlin asked Lyndon, having a seat beside him on the dock.

“Yes, but... I probably _won't_ join.” Lyndon lied casually. He had _every intention_ of joining. His brother must have asked him a hundred times by now to enter the guard training with him, but to Lyndon, there was nothing he'd rather do _less_.

It sounded boring as all Hell.

He wanted to get out of the slums, not live under someone else's rule for the rest of his life. He wanted _freedom._ Wealth bought freedom and he would make his fortune through the Thieves Guild. He was the _best_ thief around and everybody knew it, why else would they come round at all hours of the day _begging_ him to join?

“Can you promise me you won't join? You nicked that bread the other day, you were almost _caught._ You shouldn't do things like that, it's _wrong_.” His brother lectured him seriously. “And once I'm in the guard I won't be able to turn a blind eye to it anymore.”

“Hm, you haven't even started and you sound like there's a stick up your arse _already_!" He teased and Edlin scowled. "Would you rather have gone _hungry_ brother mine?” Lyndon asked him then, looking him in the eye.

Edlin sighed. “Well, _no_ , but there are better ways. You could still join the guard too, we could _both_ train-” Edlin began, an argument he'd heard a thousand times before.

“And I _told_ you, it sounded more boring than a pile of _horse shit._ I said I probably wouldn't join the guild and I told you that I would make my _own_ way. So stop bloody _asking_ me Eddy!” Lyndon exclaimed.

“ _Promise me_ you won't join the guild. I want your word!” Edlin hissed, dangerously, pointing a stern finger at him. Lyndon smiled.

“I promise I... _probably_ won't join the guild! Cross my heart!” He replied with an impish grin.

“Lyndy!” And Edlin shoved him hard and he fell off the dark into the water, but not before he grabbed onto his brother's leg, dragging him in with him. They both coughed and spluttered in the cold, salty water.

“See what you did you bloody idiot! Now we'll _never_ eat!” Lyndon shouted at his brother.

“You'd already scared it away with your ugly _face_!” Edlin shot back, splashing him in the eyes.

“ _You take that back!_ ” Lyndon roared, and they had laughed and splashed each other until they got too cold to stay in the water anymore. And he never did catch that _sodding_ crab and they'd had to-

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Lyndon awoke to soft light, the sound of wind chimes, and a terrible headache. The sweet smell of the sea and the sound of the waves were fresh on the edge of his memory and he almost smiled, thinking about how his brother-

Then he remembered.

The knife of grief and guilt twisted in his heart like the blade that had taken his other half away from him. The pain was nearly unbearable, but he didn't think he could cry anymore if he wanted to. He could smell something else now, some kind of food cooking. He felt sick to his stomach and his throat tightened in sorrow and sickness.

Everything within him threatened to curl and blacken with hatred and grief. He struggled to keep it at bay, to think of his friends, the fate of many-

-and _Jack_. He could feel the hunter beside him, warm and smelling of fire and ash and bone.

But it was impossible.

He closed his aching eyes against the light and the pain and wished, not for the first time, and likely not the last, that he had died years ago.

 


	8. Schism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Beautiful words, from the most radiant lady I've ever laid eyes on!”  
> “You are too kind. May my blessing follow you always.”
> 
> Warning: Semi-graphic descriptions of a corpse being burned. Angst and discussion of delicate subject matter. I'd be more specific but I really don't want to spoil it or give anyone the wrong idea before they read it. 
> 
> Note: I've added an additional section to this chapter to solve a plot hole issue I had previously not been aware of. References to it will be peppered appropriately from here on out. (This may take a bit longer, I'm currently in the editing process.)

 

 _I know the pieces fit 'cause I watched them fall away._  
_Mildewed and smoldering. Fundamental differing._  
_Pure intention juxtaposed will set two lovers souls in motion_  
_Disintegrating as it goes testing our communication_  
_The light that fueled our fire then has burned a hole between us so_  
_We cannot seem to reach an end crippling our communication._  
― _Schism_ , TOOL

 

The next few days would prove to be some of the worst in his life. The last time he had felt so hopeless he had been waiting to die in the town square of his burnt out village. It was like a vicious purgatory where nothing changed, and everything ended in failure.

In the wake of Urzael's defeat, the attacks on Westmarch from Malthael had come to a sudden and complete halt, but that did not stop the assault that still occurred in the rest of the civilized world, nor eradicate the undead and foul, angelic creatures that still remained in the city.

Unable to leave Westmarch, or plan any course of action until Tyrael gleaned information of Malthael's plans or whereabouts from the Soulstone sliver, Jack took to filling his suddenly vacant schedule with killing as many of the horrid creatures as he could find. His inability to help any other cities in Sanctuary gnawed at him constantly, almost to the point of madness. But nothing wore at his constitution quite so relentlessly as watching Lyndon refuse food, sleep, and any forms of conversation whilst he sank into a black depression.

The only things Jack could be grateful for were that Eirena and Myriam fretted over the thief constantly and that there wasn't any alcohol left for the man to drown himself in.

The Demon Hunter avoided Lyndon, because looking at him when he was like that was difficult to stomach, and he couldn't think of a single thing to say that could even _begin_ to attempt to fix any of it. Eirena had told him that he was not very good at lifting the spirits of others, and he was beginning to think that she was indeed correct. He had always been blunt, and was not in the habit of telling pretty lies, so instead of babbling his way through another apology, he said nothing, did nothing, afraid he would only make it worse.

The morning after the fire, he had awoken in Myriam's caravan, disoriented, sore, and _alone_ (but well rested all the same), he had stumbled out of the Vecin woman's wagon home, heart in his throat, wondering where Lyndon had gone. He found him sitting by the fire while Myriam tried to convince him to drink some tea, which he refused with a sad shake of his head. The Demon Hunter had dropped his damaged armor off at Haedrig after that, and spent the rest of the day in the city, looking for a thousand and one ways to distract himself from his own self hatred.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Haedrig observed Lyndon who was sitting on the ground, back against the comfortably warm side of his forge. His eyes were bloodshot and the lids rimmed red, he looked tired, and the hair he was always so proud of was messy and loose around his face, even beginning to get a little stringy. Usually the first to complain about getting a wash, the Kingsport native was also wearing the same clothes he'd had on since they'd first arrived in Westmarch. Lyndon just sat there, staring at nothing in particular. He occasionally shuffled the deck of cards he held in his hands, but mostly he did nothing at all.

Haedrig suspected that Lyndon had turned to him because Jack was not here, and even when the hunter  _was_ here, he didn't talk to the scoundrel at all. He only gazed at him from afar with a tormented expression, as though he were watching him slowly die. Then Jack would leave the Enclave again with some strange, glowing, skeleton dog creature following at his heels. _A poor replacement for a person_ , Haedrig thought. The blacksmith likened that because he was the first friend the thief had made since they had begun their great quest, Lyndon came here to sit with him rather than Eirena or Kormac. He sighed, unsure of how he could help him. He could barely help _himself_. He didn't like to talk about his wife or the bad things that had had happened to him, and he thought it hypocritical to even suggest the same treatment, but he suspected the lad needed to talk about his brother to start healing the wound. Talking usually got Lyndon out of most things, (though much more often than not it got him _in_ ) perhaps it would pull him out of his misery?

The two problems to this theory were: Haedrig was not the sort to talk about such things in any capacity, and that Lyndon hadn't said a word to _anyone_ since the day before yesterday. First he wouldn't shut up, and now _no one_ could get him to talk. But if it brought the scoundrel any semblance of comfort to lean against the side of the forge, warmed by the fire, then Haedrig would not send him away.

There _was_ someone he wished would stop coming 'round though. Brycen hovered around the forge like a nervous sparrow, watching Haedrig repair swords and armor for the remaining Knights of Westmarch. The boy had been shooting the thief nervous glances for over an hour now. He was _quite_ shy, which made it easier for the blacksmith to ignore his fluttering presence, but after a while Brycen seemed to finally pluck up the courage to speak to the scoundrel.

“Uhm, _hello_ Lyndon.” Brycen said awkwardly, picking at the sleeves of his tunic.

“Piss off Brycen, and don't come back without ale.” Lyndon snapped at him venomously, voice gravelly from disuse. Haedrig saw the boy flush and his eyes moisten with sudden tears.

Haedrig sighed, feeling deeply put upon. Well, at least Lyndon was _talking_.

“You will do no such thing lad, have a seat over here and polish these for me, and _don't_ bloody cut yerself!” Haedrig said to the peasant boy, leading him with a hand on his shoulder to the opposite side of the forge where the freshly forged swords had been piled, and tossed a rag at him. Brycen's eyes lit up with gratitude and he hurriedly followed the blacksmith's instructions.

Haedrig heaved a sigh, “I know yer upset Lyndon, but there's no need t'be cruel.” He remarked to the thief.

“I'm a cruel man.” Lyndon whispered back, “With no redeeming qualities whatsoever.”

“What utter _rot_.” Haedrig muttered irritably. “At least have a _sleep_ then lad. You didn't last night and yeh must be tired.”

“I'm not tired.”

“Eat somethin' then.” Haedrig suggested gruffly.

“I'm not hungry.”

“That's what you said yesterday, though you didn't actually use _words_.” Haedrig admonished.

“And it is equally true _today_.” Lyndon shot back.

Haedrig knelt down next to the thief, it was rather difficult to talk to someone who would not look at him. He spoke quietly then, just for the two of them to hear. “Will yeh sit here, day after day, until yeh waste away and die, and deal the death blow to Jack's poor ravaged heart then?”

Lyndon's only reaction was to blink quickly, three times in succession.

“He'll be better off.” The scoundrel finally said, though without any conviction.

“Oh? _Will_ 'e?” Haedrig asked him sarcastically.

“You know, for someone who keeps to himself as much as you do, you really are a nosy _bastard_.” Lyndon hissed angrily. “Maybe you and _Myriam_ can swap gossip.”

“When yeh punish yerself you punish _him_ too.” Haedrig lectured. “Do yeh truly think that there is no one in this world who can _love_ yeh?”

“The only person who has ever loved me is dead. And I'm _quite_ certain any brotherly affections he had for me died long before he did.” Lyndon muttered tiredly.

Haedrig sighed softly and got up. He went into his caravan and returned with a half full glass.

“I'd been savin' this fer a special occasion, but yeh look like yeh need it more than I do.” Haedrig said to the thief, handing the glass to him. Lyndon knocked the whole thing back in one gulp without a moment's hesitation.

He coughed a bit after he swallowed. “That wasn't vodka. It was just... _water_.” Lyndon said to him in confusion, finally meeting his eyes.

“Aye.” Haedrig answered with a slight smile. “You would do well to remember you have _friends_ here who care about yeh and worry for yeh.” Haedrig criticized.

Lyndon merely blinked at him.

The blacksmith patted him on the shoulder, then returned to his forge. He glanced at Brycen out of the corner of his eye and noticed that the boy had gotten halfway through polishing the pile of swords faster than he expected, though he also periodically sucked at a cut on his finger. _Fool boy_. Annoyed, Haedrig went looking for some cloth to tie the wound when he spotted a dagger left on his anvil that he immediately recognized as Kingsport made, albeit a far superior quality than he was used to seeing. Lyndon then.

He looked for him, but the thief had already gone back to the campfire, declaring loudly to Eirena and Myriam that he was going to take a nap and to stop trying to feed him. They were so happy he'd bloody _said_ something that they eagerly granted his wish.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

General Torion had asked for the Demon Hunter's assistance in locating the missing King, be he dead or alive, and the Demon Hunter had immediately agreed. Kormac had offered his services, thinking the brooding hunter could use a bit of friendly company after all that had been happening to him as of late. Jack had accepted his aid, though he did not much speak to him, too focused on whatever dark thoughts that had been plaguing him since their arrival in the great western capital. The Templar had never seen him so distracted.

Kormac had seen the Demon Hunter's face when he had carried Lyndon back to the enclave from wherever the thief had hidden himself and... Jack had looked as if the man had _already_ died. And indeed he might have if he had drunk any more of that cursed wine. Even though he and Lyndon did not often get along, Kormac knew deep down that the thief hid a bigger heart than he wanted people to see, and Kormac did not wish such terrible suffering on him. The death of a family member was not a trivial thing, and Lyndon had loved his brother dearly, or so Eirena had explained to him. His brother had been the only family he'd had aside from a niece or a nephew he likely wasn't allowed to see.

The Templar had almost refused to let the Demon Hunter go after Urzael by himself, thinking he'd be running into a gruesome, fiery death, or worse. Even if he _was_ a Nephalem who had killed the Prime Evil by himself, he was still a mortal and needed food and sleep like the rest of them, and the Demon Hunter was lacking both.

Kormac did not want another instance of broken bones puncturing lungs, and crippling exhaustion. But when Jack asked them both to stay behind, it was the only time the man had ever begged him for anything, and in the end he had conceded.

But praise the light, Jack had returned at dawn victorious. Exhausted, but alive and apparently uninjured, and mostly uncooked despite the fires. Then he had dragged himself into Myriam's caravan where Lyndon was resting, and slept there until the early afternoon. Kormac found this a bit _curious_ , but didn't much think on it. He was probably just concerned about the thief.

He furrowed his brow in thought while he and Jack traversed the city streets. Their friendship was puzzling to Kormac, but he did not let it concern him. Better to have the Demon Hunter keeping an eye on the thief than anyone else in his opinion.

Despite saving Westmarch, Jack had been in a black mood since he'd woken and did not even try to talk to Lyndon before he was out into the city again. Kormac had wanted to speak with him about the problem of his Order, now that the city was safe and they were waiting for news from Tyrael, but he thought better of burdening the Demon Hunter with even more dark business. Now was _not_ the time.

Lyndon didn't speak to Kormac, or Eirena, or Myriam, or indeed anyone _else_ who tried to talk to him. He sat by the fire and stared at nothing. Kormac had always thought that he would celebrate the day Lyndon finally shut his big, flapping mouth, but now that the day had come, he only felt a sad helplessness as he watched the man slowly kill himself. The atmosphere was much heavier, more grim, without Lyndon's frustratingly optimistic comments. He was the only one among them that could provide such effective distraction from the evils they faced.

“You are doing alright then Kormac?” Jack had asked eventually, startling him, while they'd walked through the streets, checking house after house for any sign of King Justinian or anything that might be a clue to point them in the right direction.

He had assumed conversation was _off limits_.

“Uhm, yes actually, all things considered.” And he _was_ feeling better, Westmarch had been saved after all. “Though I wish we could do more for the rest of the world, it is maddening to sit idle while others continue to suffer.” Kormac added with a hint of anger.

“Yes. But we cannot leave or act until Tyrael learns something new. Despite what Urzael had said, the stone remains unchanged.” Jack responded calmly, tossing a piece of scrap wood for that bizarre, glowing skeletal dog he had found. No one had mentioned it after Jack had first brought it back with him, and it was very likely no one ever would. The Demon Hunter _did_ like his pets... Who in their right mind would challenge him on it? Well, Kormac could think of _one_ person...

“How is Lyndon? He... won't _talk_ to me. Or anyone else.” Kormac began hesitantly. “He won't eat.”

And Jack seemed to deflate at the question, looking so impossibly miserable that Kormac had just wished he had never asked.

“Grief affects people differently.” Jack said flatly. “How is Eirena faring?” The hunter asked, changing the subject.

“She uhm, she thinks she's hearing the voice of one of her sisters through her focus mirror. It is wearing on her a little... I think.” Kormac mumbled, blushing a little. It was always so hard to talk about the enchantress when his feelings were right at the surface, but he was beginning to get worried for her. He'd caught her looking at the mirror more than a few times, an expression of great sadness on her pretty face.

“That is... troubling. Years ago, I used to think I could hear my father screaming, or my sister sobbing. Like I said, grief affects people in different ways, _thousands_ of ways. Perhaps this will pass in time.” Jack answered quietly.

“Aye. Perhaps.” Kormac never expected that Jack would reveal so much, and spent the rest of their outing thinking on it.

Eventually, He and Jack had learned that once the attacks had stopped coming from the reapers and various undead creatures, a group of rebellious citizens had decided it was the perfect time to overthrow their “tyrannical” King. Kormac could hardly believe they would choose now, of _all_ times to cause more death. Hadn't they had _enough_? And indeed the Demon Hunter had been equally as infuriated.

They had searched for Justinian, only to find that he had been murdered by an evil, power hungry man claiming to be the descendant of Rakkis himself. Even if his claim was true, he had killed a good man who had tried to do what was right for his people and he and Jack had delivered their brand of justice unto Lord Wynton for his despicable crimes.

It was a depressing return to the enclave to deliver the sad news to General Torion, but the leader of the Knights of Westmarch took it in stride, perhaps assuming Justinian had perished long ago. But then he had said a curious thing to the hunter.

“You're... _from_ here aren't you?” The General had said before the Demon Hunter could walk away. Expecting Jack to snap at the man, or more likely, not respond at all, Kormac was surprised when the hunter instead answered him. “My mother was a Westmarch resident until she married my father, then they moved to Talinn, west of the Blood Marshes, where I was born and raised.” Jack explained simply.

“But... Talinn was destroyed a decade ago! There were no survivors!” The general had replied, surprised.

“You are correct.” Jack answered him, then walked away.

Kormac did not know that he and the Demon Hunter were from the very same land. Jack had not said as much. Though the Templar supposed he should have expected this, Jack never talked much of himself, even after all the time they had spent together. Jack had been born in the country of Westmarch? It was _here_ that he had lost his family and joined the Demon Hunters? Kormac thought that perhaps _this_ was the reason why the man had been so out of sorts since their arrival, The Templar could understand Jack's anger because it was their birthplace that was being attacked! Their home country! This, they had in common!

Kormac was just about to tell the Demon Hunter so, when he witnessed a troubling scene. Haedrig had approached Jack in a secluded area of the enclave to speak with him, and Jack had quickly become agitated.

“Gods, his brother's wife?! Could it get any _worse_?!” The man had shouted and then, in anger, he had thrown the dagger Kormac recognized as being the one that had been pulled from Lyndon's brother's corpse. The outburst of rage was unusual for him, Jack was normally a very stern and calm man when he was not in combat, but what was even more unusual and much more _worrisome,_ was the arc of gold and black lightning that had followed the knife he had thrown, destroying a pile of crates in a small, but _violent_ explosion.

It was almost like the energy he'd witnessed in Gideon's Row. Was Jack losing control of his power again?

Jack had stood there, shock etched on his face, utterly stunned by what he had done. He didn't speak to anyone, he didn't do anything but grab his bag and make a brief visit to Myriam's caravan. Then he left the enclave as fast as he could.

By the light, something was _very_ wrong indeed, and Kormac was beginning to think that it had more to do with that _scoundrel_ than it did the corrupt angel that was leading an assault on their world.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

He'd made a mental promise, and now was the time to fulfill it.

When Jack had approached the Vecin woman inside her caravan home, his rage had been quickly replaced by a great anxiety. But Myriam already seemed to know exactly what he was going to ask of her, and handed him a vial of clear liquid and a tied bundle of roses, jasmine, and marigold. It was reliving to not have to voice his request. The very thought of it was a weight on his heart.

"Pour that oil over the body and set it alight. It will burn completely, then you may sweep the ashes with the flowers." Myriam explained to him gently. "Use this to hold the ashes." She said, and handed him a simple, porcelain urn, which he carefully placed into his bag.

"You will not be bringing him with you?" She asked hesitantly, but it sounded more like a statement. He knew she meant Lyndon, of _course_ she would know.

"No, I... don't think he-" He paused and released a tired sigh. "It would be too much." He finished. Lyndon was already at his breaking point. Although it was only right that he should be present when his brother's corpse was burned, he could not bear to subject him to any more heartache. He could not let him face that failure.

 _Jack's_ failure.

Myriam seemed to understand and nodded. He thanked her and left.

He avoided the waypoint, (and the heavy gaze of every person in the enclave) instead taking the long way back to Westmarch's prison. It gave him time to dwell on his task, to work up to it. But it also gave him plenty of time to examine his wretched mistake in detail and how it should have been avoided:

Why had he _waited_?

Just to go to Caldeum and New Tristram instead? They hadn't even done much there, just bounties and self indulgent treasure hunting, all the while Edlin had continued to rot in prison. Or so they'd thought. Jack assumed that, while Lyndon's brother would be unhappy, he would be relatively safe until they got to him. It had seemed like the best choice at the time, to make sure the cities they had last been too were still doing alright. Then he had decided Westmarch and the problem of Kormac's Order would be best seen to before Kingsport. Lives were likely at stake, men being tortured to their breaking point under false pretenses.

Edlin was supposed to have been _safe_.

A fat lot of good their work did now. Caldeum was swarming with reapers like Westmarch and every other major city in the world. They could have avoided all of this pain and heartbreak if they had just gone to Kingsport _first_. He should have. Gods, he really should have. Then Edlin would still be alive, and Lyndon would not be sitting by the fire, drowning in guilt and self hatred and wasting away to nothing. He would have been _happy_ , reunited with his brother and making up for his mistakes and time lost.

But now it would never happen, all because of Jack's poor decision making.

If Jack hadn't hated himself before, he certainly did now.

The main gates of the prison still lay open as they'd left it, and Jack wasted no time in going inside. He hated to come back here, but he had promised and it was the least of what Lyndon deserved. And if Edlin was as good as Lyndon always said he was, then the man deserved to at least be freed from the possibility of being risen as one of the undead -please let him still be _dead_ \- and taken away from this awful place.

The stench of death was pervasive, but one he was intimately familiar with. After Gideon's Row and the Noble's courtyard, he'd likely never be bothered by the smell again.

He traversed the bloodied hallways and got an eyeful of the carnage they had wrought, the carnage _he_ had wrought, all in the name of one man. He wallowed in the awful knowledge that he was not the least bit sorry for any of it, and would do it all again in a heartbeat.

Jack descended blood-slicked stairs, glanced at the decaying remains of the man he had kicked down the staircase. The one Lyndon had ended with an arrow through the eye. The rats seemed to have gotten to him. Most of the corpses here seemed to have been aggressively picked at. He wondered how many rats had become accustomed to that taste of human.

The bloodied corpse of Enoch White was given only a passing glance. _May you rot here forever_ , the only prayer offered.

Edlin lay where they had found him, face down in a puddle of long dried blood, days dead already, but it was cold down here. Far colder than it was just one floor above them, and there was no smell. Jack wondered how long he had suffered in this dark, cold, wretched place before his own wife had come and planted a knife in his back. If that was even what actually happened.

He would not turn the body over. The fear that Edlin would too much resemble his brother was nauseating. He wouldn't be able to go through with this if he did, and he _needed_ to do this.

Maybe, someday, Lyndon could describe Edlin for him and he could draw a picture. For now he was content enough to not know his face.

He poured the oil over the corpse and produced a flint rock from his bag. The oil caught at the slightest spark and soon the body was set alight. There was less smoke then he thought there would be, but it still made his eyes water and burn, and that didn't do anything to fix the smell. Sweet, putrid charcoal, and even beneath the rot was the hint of cooking swine. Thankfully this lower level dungeon seemed to have some sort of ventilation or he might've been choking.

Jack knelt there and waited in silence until the last bone crumbled to ash, Edlin a bed of softly glowing coals, and then longer still for the firelight to fade. His thoughts weren't even coherent, completely mixed and unformed, and if asked he'd likely say it had felt as though he'd only waited moments, but for a body to burn so completely, it would have been hours.

He meticulously swept every last trace of ashes into the urn, and when he had finished, the floor looked cleaner than it had likely looked for decades. He stayed on the floor, held the lidded urn in his hands, and remembered the crushing despair in the thief's eyes, in his demeanor, in his tears, and wondered if he'd ever get him back.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Jack sat very still in the shallow river, eyes closed, feeling the cold water drift past his naked body. He focused on the sensation of the water for a while, the gentle current that carried whatever drifted in it away from him, and he relaxed a little. At first the cold had been shocking and uncomfortable, but the temperatures had not yet dipped below freezing so it was tolerable. That and it cleared his head remarkably. The ambient sounds of the forest were soothing. Quiet, yet alive, like so many things lately were _not_ , birds and beasts speaking to one another.

He concentrated, as he had a thousand times before when he meditated to center himself and get control back in his grasp. He concentrated until the sounds of the ferrets playing with each other on the shore fell away. The soft, padding footfalls of the wolf moving among the trees faded into the background and all sounds with it until there was only him and the water. He imagined the hate, the _rage_ , and every ounce of pain draining away from his heart and through his veins... down his arms... and out his fingertips to pool on the surface like oil, black and poisonous. He imagined it drifting away from him along with the sharp, red blood tang of fear.

Only when he felt it leave him completely did he open his eyes again, the flickering flame that lived within his pupils burning out and drifting away like smoke.

He had found a clean river that ran through the marsh, three miles outside of Westmarch, and secluded from the dark things that troubled the world and himself. His control had been slipping dangerously and he had been neglecting his meditative practices in favor of teaching Lyndon arrow enchantment.

A mistake. Though perhaps not _entirely_. It was Lyndon's small cache of frozen arrows that had saved his life from Urzael's fire and his burning maidens. But even still, something as important as self discipline should never have been ignored. The balance had tipped much too far the other way as of late.

It was not like him to take such a leisurely moment for himself, but he knew that if he did not try to at least get a handle on his rage and fear, he would not be able to win this and the world would perish.

Lyndon, and his other friends with it. And that he would _not_ abide.

Edlin's ashes sat in the urn on the water's edge, and Rea's note was still in his cloak pocket. What was he going to _tell_ the thief? That the love of his life had not only rejected him, but then murdered his brother? It would kill him, surely it would. He'd have to wait... at least a little while until Lyndon wasn't so close to giving up. If that day _ever_ came. In fact, once he got back to the enclave he would make _sure_ that the scoundrel would eat if he had to force the food down his throat himself. And then they could go from there.

Feeling much better now that he had something that resembled a course of action, he washed himself of the smell of death. Then shaved carefully by touch, and his wavering reflection in the crystalline surface of the water.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

When he came back to the enclave at the Zakarum cathedral, Eirena was trying to convince Lyndon to take the bowl of food from her hands and eat its contents.

"Is it ale?" The thief asked flatly, the first words Jack had heard from him in more than a day.

"Uhm, no." Eirena answered, confused.

" _Wine_ perhaps?" Lyndon continued hopefully.

She blinked, looking a little sad. “ _No_ , Lyndon, it's-”

“Then I _don't want it_!” He snapped viciously at her, startling her and the look on Eirena's face screamed of hurt. Then Kormac stood up furiously. Perhaps that was what the scoundrel had wanted.

Sensing a fight, Jack stepped up to diffuse the situation before it escalated.

He had had more than enough.

"Lyndon." He said, and the thief looked up at him then, and Jack pointed a crossbow right between his eyes. Eirena gasped and Kormac's rage vanished instantly. " _Jack_..." the Templar began cautiously, but he ignored them both.

"If you don't eat, I will put a bolt right through your miserable head." Jack threatened angrily.

Lyndon stared right into his eyes with equal intensity. " _Go ahead_." He growled and they stared at each other furiously for what felt like an age. Entire species evolved and died while they held each others gaze.

Jack sighed a bit, his first plan wasn't going to _work_. Plan B it was then.

The Demon Hunter stepped back, then stormed off to where they kept their possessions and grabbed Lyndon's bag and equipment. He dumped the things in the man's lap and said, "Get ready."

Lyndon obeyed him with only a slight frown, and got his coat on and strapped the now frozen over crossbow to his back, then hauled his bag over his shoulder. Curiosity and tiredness had replaced anger.

"Where are we going?" He asked the hunter quietly.

"Out." Jack said simply, and he offered Lyndon his hand and pulled him to his feet. He didn't let go of him when he stood, he merely led him out and away by the hand, then out of the enclave, and indeed out of the very city, back to the river he had just come from.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

“Did you drag me all the way out here just to _ogle_ me while I bathed Jacky?” The thief had teased with a mischievous smile that did not reach his eyes.

At least Lyndon was _talking_ now.

Jack narrowed his eyes at him and tossed a bar of soap at his face, but the thief had caught it expertly, only serving to irritate him more. Then the hunter sat himself on the bank, chipping with a blade at the ice that had formed over the thief's weighty crossbow from lack of maintenance. He watched from the corner of his eye as Lyndon stripped, then waded into the cold water, mumbling, hissing and cursing the entire time in protest and discomfort. Jack had felt much better after a dip and a wash in the river, perhaps Lyndon would as well.

At least, that was the only other idea he had been able come up with. The man _needed_ a wash anyways, even his hair that he spent so much time fawning over had gotten dirty, and he didn't even seem to _care_. Not to mention how overgrown his face had become. Lyndon was the most fastidious person in regards to his physical appearance than anyone else he'd ever met. Maybe if he _looked_ better, it would also help him to _feel_ better.

Jack watched Lyndon dunk himself in the water, then jump up with a yelp, shaking his head like a dog and gasping. He quickly worked the bar of soap over his skin, sucking air through his chattering teeth. The hunter observed the old scars on his bare back and noted how the muscles moved beneath the skin there. Lyndon had gained a lot of muscle mass since they'd first met. He had been a bit skinny then and had a slight tummy, born from self indulgence and laziness. Now though... he had filled out and developed some good upper body strength. Likely from carrying and using the heavy crossbow Jack scrubbed at. Jack's own twin weapons were light, but that did not mean it didn't require strength to fire them, and he had trained his body for years in other ways. The Demon Hunter watched the muscles flex in the thief's arms and shoulders as he scrubbed at old blood and dirt on his chest.

Realizing he was staring, Jack flushed a little, and purposefully looked away.

"There's something I've noticed with you... Kormac and Eirena as well." Jack said to him while Lyndon worked soap into his wet hair with practiced strokes. This was something he had been thinking about for a while, and was the second part of the hunter's plan to drag the thief out of his depression.

"And what's that then?” Lyndon asked him.

"In all the time we have been together, neither you, Kormac or Eirena seem to have been tempted in the slightest by the corruption we had so frequently been exposed to. Where most men would have faltered and perhaps turned on their friends, you didn't. You didn't seem to even be affected at _all_. Even when we were in Hell.” Jack explained carefully. “And for _you_ especially... there was a lot of opportunity.”

“Cause I'm a _greedy_ little _thief_ right?” Lyndon asked over his shoulder, a bit annoyed.

“Your words, not mine.” Jack answered quickly. “There is something in all Demon Hunters that allows them to ignore the temptation and corruption of evil. Perhaps the three of you were born with this ability as well.”

Lyndon said nothing.

"I think...” Jack continued hesitantly, “That you are _immune_ to the demon's vile influence and...if you... if you _like_ , I will teach you the enchanting techniques that I at first refused you.” Jack finished awkwardly. Perhaps... if Lyndon could also busy himself with learning as Jack had... it would help him with the pain. This was his _idea_ at least.

And silence reigned.

And after a few moments, Lyndon started to laugh, but it was a cold and dead laughter, like that which might have risen from a corpse. He stood waist deep in the water, head thrown back and cackling, while Jack stared at him from the shore, confused and _extremely_ concerned.

“ _Immune_ to corruption?” The thief managed to ask between giggles. “Have I rubbed off on you so much? You're getting funnier every day.” Lyndon said flatly, and that horrible laughter had stopped. There was no trace of mirth in his voice at all. Jack just stared at him as Lyndon tipped his head back into the water and rinsed the soap out of his hair. When he was done, he wrung his hair out best he could and stood there, back to the Demon Hunter, staring off into the forest.

"May I _tell_ you something?" His voice seemed different then in a way Jack was unable to place. Wrong somehow.

"Something that I have never, ever told another living soul, not even my brother. I hadn't thought of it for years until yesterday." Lyndon continued conversationally.

Jack sat quietly, giving Lyndon his full attention.

Lyndon looking back at him, face unreadable, then looked away before he spoke again. “It was the first month I had finally joined the Thieves Guild, I was still going through their initiation which took more than a year to complete. I was eighteen then and I was chatting with some of the members in one of the many dens in Kingsport. It wasn't a _palace_ down there but it certainly wasn't a sewer as I've so often said." Lyndon began with Jack sitting on the edge of the river, listening intently.

"I was milling about down there with some of the other men, talking about girls, and drink, and pick pocket technique. I was something of a _celebrity_ among them you see, I had never been caught... That _they_ knew of anyway. And _all_ the women liked me." He continued, still standing in the cold water and dragging the tips of his fingers around on the surface, rippling it. Jack stared at the tense line of his shoulders. “They were always asking me for advice on how to pick up girls, and how to not get themselves caught by the city guard.” Lyndon added.

"We were playing a card game, as were many of the others there, when six more men entered the room. Between them they had a young girl. Pretty, blonde, probably _Eirena's_ age or younger, face tear streaked, with her clothes hanging off her. I knew immediately she must have been violated at least once already by then, but the man who was the leader of this merry band of six addressed the room, ' _who wants to have a go at her next_?' that man had asked." Lyndon paused for a few moments. Staring at the water. And Jack felt his blood beginning to slowly freeze with dread, like frost creeping across a window pane.

"Everyone laughed.” Lyndon continued. "They had laughed, ' _Haha! What a_ pretty _wench_ !' They had said.” And Lyndon's voice steeled dangerously then, “And I swear to you. _Every. Last. Man_ in that room had their turn with that poor, _wretched_ , desecrated, girl." He whispered, voice hard as wrought iron. "Ten more men at least." The thief continued with weak detachment.

Jack could not speak. He _could not_ speak. His rage was so sudden, and so strong that it nearly paralyzed him beneath its burning intensity.

"When it was my turn, I knew that I would likely be gutted on the spot if I did not partake. But being the _clever_ man that I am, I put on an act. I smiled. I laughed. In the face of her _extreme_ suffering, and I said, ' _No thank you, I like my women fresh, they're no good to me when they've already been broken in._ ' The thieves had laughed, sparing me a, very likely, drawn out and horrific death.” The scoundrel muttered miserably.

"Haha, Lyndon is so _funny_ , another ale for _Lyndon_!" The thief hissed darkly.

"I remained in that room, hour after hour, playing game after game of Black Jack and Poker and bloody _Go Fish_ , while that nameless girl went into shock and died on the table where she had been discarded like so much trash. Barely six feet away from me. While I did nothing but play _cards_." Lyndon finished, voice dead.

Jack was silent. He had known all along of the cruelty of thieves hadn't he?

"The following day... _Eddy_..." And he swallowed around his brother's name as if it pained him physically to say it. "Edlin had been so worried for me... I stayed in bed sick. I claimed everything from rotten food to too much drink to get him to leave me alone and go to work at the guard post. If that wasn't a sign to get out of the Guild than I don't know what was. But I did not listen to it, or my brother's pleas. I stayed for my greed, and my fame, and now Edlin is dead." Lyndon finished quickly after a few breaths.

Jack could hardly breathe, the once crisp, night air had become thick and oppressive. He felt sick to his stomach, sick in his heart, sick in his very _soul_. They remained there quietly for a few minutes before Lyndon spoke again.

“Thieves... _steal_. They steal gold, and trinkets, and sentimental memories yes, but most of all, they steal mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, sons and daughters. _Lives_. They steal purity and dignity and innocence until there is nothing left. And then they are no better than demons, only fit to walk the roads of Hell.” Lyndon muttered.

"Immune to corruption. A _good person_ . Ha. That's the funniest thing you've ever said. You could be a _court_ _jester_ , Jacky.” He said nastily.

Lyndon turned then to finally look at him.“A good person... What do you see now, _Demon Hunter_?" He hissed in a dark whisper, voice hoarse and tired.

Jack was quiet for a moment. Staring at him with sadness in his heart. He likened that this was the closest anyone had come to seeing who Lyndon really was beneath his smiles, and jokes, and easy confidence. The hunter could almost feel the self loathing coming from the other man like the poisonous air that released in bursts from deep within the bog. He knew what it felt like to hate himself like that. He knew what it felt like to run when he should have fought.

( _Everyone runs. The only question is, what will you do next time?_ )

"I see a man who will get a bad chill, or get sick, if he does not come out of the cold water." Jack finally managed to say. Lyndon blinked, hesitated a moment, then wandered out to unceremoniously seat himself next to the hunter, shivering and tired, eyes red, but dry. He would not look at him.

Jack threw his cloak around Lyndon to warm him, as he had the day they had first met when the man had been in nothing but a thin tunic, worn pants and ruined boots and was earnestly asking him if he could have the glittering blue artifact in his hands, when Jack was _done_ with it of course. The hunter knew now that his appearance and dress at the time had not been out of foolishness and lack of survival experience, but because he had been on the run and the clothes on his back and an old crossbow were all he'd had left. He'd loaned him the warm cloak out of responsibility then, he did it now because he cared about him.

They sat there quietly for a time, side by side, nothing but the sound of running water and ambient life from the marsh and bordering forests.

"Lyndon." Jack began seriously while the thief stared at the ground. "I have dedicated a decade of my life to slaughtering demons. I have seen the myriad forms they take and I have walked in the wake of their destruction. When I said you were a good person I meant it with all of my heart." Jack said without emotion, a statement.

"No one but a good person would descend corpse laden steps into a room like an oven with people he barely knew to rid a village of a horrendous terror." Jack said. "No one but a good person would ease the grief of a young woman who had just lost her uncle by offering a kind word. No one but a good person would follow people he believed hated him into the deadliest of deserts to save an ancient city from a poisonous demon lord." Jack continued, staring out into the dark as Lyndon sat silently next to him, bundled in the cloak.

"No one but a _good person_ would enter a battle he had no part in, brave the cold of a snowy death field and then the burning heat of the Burning Hells themselves to kill the Lord of Sin in his own house, and then, in the same day, enter heaven to save the world from terror and destruction and hate and still have the courage to keep going when Hope seemed forever lost." Jack finished gently.

Lyndon snorted, unimpressed. "I did it out of greed, out of selfishness, in a hope that I would get something from it. I don't care about anyone but my own wretched self, if even that." Lyndon whispered flatly.

"There are some things that even the most avaricious of men will not do, and you have done them _all_. You do care about others. Not many would give most of his gold to a family that he believed despised him. If you only cared about yourself why did you hassle our poor enchantress asking after me every hour for almost two days when I was bedridden?" Jack continued, wondering if he could every stop listing the good things that Lyndon had done since he'd met him. How much he had changed, had _grown_.

Or indeed... if he could tell him about that awful note Haedrig found in the dagger, without driving Lyndon into an early grave.

Jack closed his eyes. "No one but a good person would tell a man with nothing to live for that he was more than just a living weapon. Then curb his own impressive lust in a display of incredible patience and kindness in a bid to give a _nervous virgin_ time to breathe... Then hold my hand in a cathedral of bloody, ruined memories and ask in all seriousness if I was _alright_." Jack finished in a low voice, barely a whisper.

They sat in the quiet. In the distance, a screech owl whinnied like a newborn foal.

"For a talented thief you are an abysmal liar." Jack added irritably.

"No. I am an _expert_ liar. I am only abysmal at lying to _you_ it seems." Lyndon finally said with a slight smirk.

Jack was hesitant, he'd been avoiding exactly this. Out of fear and uncertainty and whatever he thought would happen if he let himself go and relinquished control. But he tipped the thief's head towards him and kissed him anyway. His mouth was soft and reacted to his immediately, and Gods, had it only been three days or three centuries since the last time? This was not the frantic, teeth scraping venture it had been then, it was careful and light, and Lyndon was the first to pull back.

“You didn't talk to me for three days.” Lyndon stated against Jack's lips, “And then you pointed a bloody _crossbow_ at my face.”

“You wouldn't eat. You barely spoke to anyone.” The hunter attempted to explain. It wasn't a good excuse, he hadn't spoken to him because he'd been afraid.

“You were the only person I wanted to speak to.” The thief answered lowly, moving to gently nip at his jawline.

“... I'm sorry.” Jack breathed, starting to pant at the slight tickling sensation. What was he _doing_?

“And the _only_ bloody thing I could stand to eat.” Lyndon whispered.

“...What?” But his question didn't get answered, because Lyndon was kissing him and just _barely_ sucking on his tongue, the sensation made his fingertips start to tingle and his bottom jaw tremble.

Mouths still connected, Lyndon pushed him to his back quite suddenly, which startled him. His hands clawed and scrambled desperately for purchase. Expecting fabric, they encountered and clutched at warm skin instead. The cloak had slipped off Lyndon's shoulders to pool on the ground behind him, the thief didn't seem to care. Cool, damp moss at his back gave him a cold shiver, but he forgot about it quickly as Lyndon worried his bottom lip with his teeth, licking and biting at Jack before he moved to his throat, tracing his pulsing jugular with his tongue.

And that irrational fear was back again, sudden and intense. “W-wait, wait...” Jack's hands started to shake where he had perched them on the thief's shoulders. Lyndon sat up, took his right hand in his own and held it gently. “Relax.” He breathed. His eyes were focused on him and dark, nearly black with arousal. Then he peeled the glove off and tossed it over his shoulder, then slowly dragged Jack's index finger into his mouth, biting lightly on the pad, then laving it with his tongue, before he pulled it out again.

“ _Let me taste you_.” Lyndon whispered intensely, a hunger in his eyes. All blood flow rushed southward and his whole body flushed hot like a sudden fever. He wanted this. He wanted Lyndon to touch him as much as the thief wanted to do it. He would let Lyndon do whatever he liked to keep him from degrading into that desolate creature he'd been in the enclave. He'd let him do _anything_ to him.

Jack had barely nodded consent when the thief attacked his pants, getting them open and down to his knees where they caught around the tops of his boots. Lyndon got underneath and between his legs and started kissing his stomach and the crease where his legs connected to his torso. His mustache tickled the skin there, making muscles jump and flutter. Jack gripped his fingers tight at Lyndon's shoulder blades, near paralyzed and breathing heavily through his mouth. Half naked and exposed to the cold air, a thousand thoughts tore through his head; it wasn't _safe_ here, he had things he needed to be doing, Kormac still needed his help, Jack wasn't _nearly_ ready enough to do this, Lyndon was going to get _cold_ soon, somewhere out there, someone was _dying_ -

“Gods, I can almost _hear_ you thinking. Stop it.” Lyndon hissed quietly.

Then the thief skipped over his abdomen with his fingertips, gripped his hips with strong hands, and brought his mouth to the hard flesh between the hunter's legs. The first lap of a hot tongue was sudden, incogitable, and nearly undid him. The second made his eyes threaten to roll back in his head. Then Lyndon drew his cock into his mouth and started to _suck_ with long swipes of his tongue. The only sound that escaped him was a thin mewl that ended in a wheeze, born from pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.

The thief drew back a little, “Mm. _There_ we go.” Then he started again, swallowing him down all at once.

And Jack stopped thinking entirely. And while he was so busy not thinking, he squeezed his legs and forced the bluntly taloned heel of his boot firmly into Lyndon's lower back, causing the thief to yelp and cough, scraping his teeth slightly over too sensitive flesh as he pulled back, and Jack drew in a sharp breath.

“ _Ow_ , damn it!” Lyndon groused, craning his head back to see what had hurt him. Jack would have apologized but he was too busy trying to remember how to breathe. “Eugh, these are coming off _now_.” Lyndon muttered, struggling with the buckles. He bared his teeth a little beginning to get frustrated when he couldn't get the boots off fast enough. “How do you...? Bloody... damn... _shit_.” Jack quickly intervened and fumbled with the fastenings, unsnapping them with fingers that were almost useless. Lyndon pulled his boots off, tossed them aside carelessly, then stripped his pants off until his legs and feet were bare. The thief gripped his thighs tightly with a growl. Dark eyes flicked to his briefly, then Lyndon was narrowing his eyes in concentration as he brought the flat of his tongue up the hot length of him, trailing a path of fire and ripping low cries from the hunter's mouth without his permission.

The thief pinned his legs down and coaxed them further apart, lounging almost leisurely in the space he'd made. Jack looked down at Lyndon, sucking and licking at him, lips closing tight, then lapping at the taut skin of his balls with exquisite care and groaned at the sight of him, letting his head fall back again. He wound his fingers tightly into damp, silky hair that was dark, warm, and curled at the ends just slightly, trying to keep himself from thrusting into the other man's mouth that felt like paradise.

Lyndon switched between his hands and his mouth frequently, moving his tongue lower and lower by the minute, and Jack shuddered a bit, not used to the sensation. The scoundrel snarled and pulled one of his legs over his shoulder suddenly, then that hot, moist tongue- _Gods his tongue_ -was teasing at his very core. At first it was a little uncomfortable and he didn't feel much of anything at all (except heavy embarrassment and a slight revulsion), then Lyndon got both hands under him and spread him open and the sensation became _(_ _Ohgodsohgodsoh-_ ) suddenly, and completely overwhelming. Any remaining thoughts or concerns left his head completely. He brought his hand to his mouth and bit until he tasted blood, but it wasn't to muffle a scream, he hadn't any air left.

His whole body flushed hot as the sensation spread outward, like sinking into a warm bath. Jack's ears started to ring and he felt dizzy, light headed, and his muscles went loose and weak except for the uncontrollable rocking of his hips as he ground downwards onto that wicked tongue. He couldn't recognize the sounds that were coming out of him then, half aware of a low, endless whine spilling out of him. He was nearly delirious, tunnel vision narrowing. That tongue, so hot and _wet_ , moving in a slow back and forth slide over the delicate whorl of skin was killing him slowly, and just as surely as a severed artery, bleeding his self control and all of his sense out into the dirt. His skin gone hot and tight, shivering, blood flowing like lava in his veins.

Lyndon paused then, "Jack? Is it good?” He asked a little hesitantly. Jack could hardly breathe, let alone speak and all he could think of was why Lyndon had _stopped_. He panted like a dog, trying to get himself under control. "Mm. You're lovely like this, do you know?" Lyndon continued, almost conversationally. "Akarat's mercy... I want you... _so much_." The thief's voice was rough and hitching as he stroked himself. Was he...? Gods it felt as though his hands were _everywhere_. Lyndon took him into his mouth again and bobbed his head, alternating between hard sucks and teasing laps of his tongue.

And-

-He was _drowning_.

Jack curled his body up around the thief like a grasping spider, keening. His fingernails ripped lines into Lyndon's back from the base of his spine to the nape of his neck as he came so hard he thought he would pass out, hips rocking against Lyndon's hot mouth and spilling down his throat. He thought he would _die_ , thought that this was the end of him, thought that his soul would leave his body to the mouth that was pulling it out of him.

He clung to Lyndon after, shivering and barely coherent as the thief sucked air and hissed through his teeth. “That bloody _hurt_ you mad bastard! Am I bleeding? Do we need to get you a pair of mittens or something? Gods, at least you didn't _bite_ me this time... would've torn my damn collarbone off.” Lyndon muttered irritably, stroking Jack's hair with gentle fingers. Jack could only groan weakly, though he had little experience back this up, he was fairly certain that he'd just had some kind of exorcism.

“Alright?” Lyndon asked eventually, petting his back. Jack could only nod numbly. After a few minutes of panting and shivering, he pulled back and Lyndon actually had the _nerve_ to grin at him. The bottom half of his face and mustache was shiny with spit and the hunter flushed dark red. Lyndon leaned in and tried to kiss him but Jack grimaced and pushed his head away, disgusted. The scoundrel only laughed and sucked at his racing pulse instead, making him gasp.

Jack wondered how he could have become involved with such a deplorable individual, but the relief at seeing him smile, for _real_ this time, was so strong it eased a tension in his chest that had been there since Lyndon had seen his brother's corpse in that awful dungeon two days ago.

“That really hurt! I'm expecting _compensation_ for this you know.” Lyndon added with a slight air of smugness while he wiped his mouth. Afterward he rubbed at his back with his free hand gingerly, checking his fingers for blood. Then he pulled the black cloak comfortably around the two of them while they sat and recovered from their... _activities_.

“Gods, Lyndon, don't you have _enough_ gold?” Jack ground out tiredly.

“What a _silly_ question.” Lyndon answered with a smile and continued to brush his skin with soothing fingers. It was _incredibly_ calming, and for the first time in days Jack felt more like himself, instead of someone he couldn't recognize or control. It wasn't a complete fix, but it was a good start. And he had to admit it was comfortable to sit so close to the thief, warm, and safe, and comforting, like it had been at...

“Incidentally...” Lyndon began again after a long quiet. "The leader of that group of six, you may be pleased to remember him, Nigel Cutthroat. At least, pleased to remember that you _killed_ him and his five nasty cronies. One good thing to come of it anyway." Lyndon said darkly. “That was the first time you saved my life and I never really thanked you for it.” Lyndon continued a bit awkwardly. “Had you and ol' Kormac and L-Leah not shown up, I imagine that poor miller's girl... Sarah or _whatshername_ would have been horridly assaulted then killed as I was forced to look on, then I would have been killed myself in some horrible way, and my corpse strung up afterward for vultures, or undead, or a dinner for the bloody goatmen.” Lyndon finished.

“You have a funny way of showing gratitude.” Jack muttered, feeling suddenly, _incredibly_ tired.

“I have a funny way of showing a lot of things I suppose.” Lyndon admitted quietly.

“Indeed.” Jack agreed.

The hunter felt some satisfaction, knowing that Nigel's filthy corpse and that of his wretched minions had likely rotted into the ground there in the Fields of Misery. His only wish would have been that he had caused that awful man a bit more suffering.

“Yesterday... I _hated_ you for it. I wished you had never come and that I had died.” Lyndon said suddenly in a quiet voice. Jack froze, feeling slightly ill at his words. “But _today_...” The thief continued, “I realized that I'm not, in fact, alone... and that there are other people who would supposedly be... _adversely_ affected if I offed my wretched self.” Lyndon added, flicking his eyes up to Jack's face and back to the ground. And I realized that you were quite right... about giving Haedrig that cursed dagger... I-I owe it to Eddy to find out who did it... even if it was _my_ fault he...” Lyndon trailed off tiredly, then sighed softly.

And Jack knew that he needed to tell him right now or keep it from him forever, or at least until it became a problem, ruining the man's trust in him in the process. He could not hide this from him any longer, no matter how afraid he was of the outcome.

"Lyndon. There's one more thing I must tell you, two things actually. It wasn't the Thieves Guild that killed your brother. I have proof... if it is indeed authentic." Jack began, chest growing tight again in anxiety.

Lyndon just stared at him curiously while the hunter dug in the pocket of his shirt for the letter, handing it to him silently. “Haedrig found it. The dagger's hilt was hollow and he found this hidden inside.”

The scoundrel unfolded the note and read it aloud. "Lyndon, I killed him, come after me if you must... _Rea_ ...." He muttered in disbelief, "My... Brother's _wife_."

"The woman you loved..." Jack added, wondering if he'd made it worse or better. For some reason, the words made his chest hurt in a way he couldn't describe, but he tried to push it away. "Why would she kill him?" He asked.

Lyndon sighed and closed his eyes. "I _don't_ want to talk about her, not until this matter is settled, and... I know you and I will see it done." He said resolutely, the spark in his eyes back after such a long and agonizing absence.

Jack nodded. There was still so much to do.

Lyndon looked at him again, "Jack I... Thank you... I'm more confused now than I was _before_ . But the guilt... I- I feel like I can _breathe_ again. I feel like there's _hope_." Lyndon admitted softly, barely a whisper.

Jack only nodded at him, glad that he had not failed in this at least. The relief was... draining.

He needed a nap.

"What was the other thing...?" Lyndon asked hesitantly.

"I have your brother's ashes." And Jack didn't hesitate this time. "They're in an urn in the enclave."

Lyndon could only stare at him. Jack should never have been afraid to tell him, the raw gratitude he saw in the man's eyes made up for almost everything that had happened since they'd found Edlin to begin with.

“Fine.” The scoundrel hissed furiously, after a moment.

“What?” Jack asked, confused.

“I'll _stay_.” The thief said and smiled at him warmly, then he groaned suddenly and dropped his head onto Jack's chest.

Alarmed, the hunter touched the back of his head with careful fingers. “What's wrong? Are you alright?”

“Gods, I'm _starving_.” Lyndon whined petulantly, and Jack smiled.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on the timing of events: I try to pace the events (quests) to be what I think is more realistic, a bit like Lord of the Rings pacing where some things take time and there is a slowness of travel and a moment to think about actions and events. Sauron did not have Middle Earth in his grasp in a day, and even Diablo took twenty years to reap what he had sowed. When you play a game like Diablo, it is just that, a game and it's not really designed to be in real time (I'd likely still be crawling around in the repository of bones or something). Act V plays like everything happened in one night, but I don't believe that's possible, even for an all powerful, ex-Archangel of Wisdom. Does that make sense? xD
> 
> Did this chapter fix it? Too much porn? No such thing? Story make sense? Characters in character? Seriously, I love reading and responding to comments. Tell me how I'm driving!


	9. Hi Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyndon is back in business. A little slice of life, but the peaceful lull will not last.

_“The best relationships in our lives are the best not because they have been the happiest ones,  
they are that way because they have stayed strong through the most tormentful of storms.”  
― _ Pandora Poikilos, _Excuse Me, My Brains Have Stepped Out_

 

 

As Lyndon cleaned up his face carefully with a straight razor with the aid of a mirror he'd balanced on a rock, he reflected on the fact that he probably could have had the hunter right there on the ground if he'd wanted to, but then he would have felt even more like scum then he already did. Jack was still so high strung about... everything. The poor bastard just couldn't seem to get it into his head that it was supposed to feel _good_. That it was supposed to be _fun_. Though, going by what Myriam said, any sort of fooling around wasn't much fun when intimacy was too often synonymous with pain and loss. He combed his hair back carefully and poured a bit of olive oil into his hands while the hunter shakily buckled his stupid, clawed boots back on. He brushed a quick hand through his hair to slick it back and make it a little shiny, then he observed his reflection, some shadows under his eyes, bloodshot, face a bit pale, but still flushed from their little half-shag. With some sleep and food he'd look well enough again.

Not that he would ever admit it, but he'd _never_ done something like that for a man before. It just wasn't his usual way of doing things, as his aching jaw could attest to. He was much more used to being on the receiving end of such things. Truth be told he'd been a bit worried he'd be absolute rubbish at it (he was far more familiar with pleasing women and he'd hardly been able to fit the damn thing in his _mouth_ for Akarat's sake, but Jack had practically gone to pieces, and Lyndon was pleased about that. Guess he could finally claim he'd “done it all” now. Not that it really mattered. Lyndon always felt much better after a little roll in the... _moss_ , perhaps Jack would feel a bit better too?

Though... he could have done _without_ all the cuts and bruises.

Admittedly, the scoundrel _had_ forced it on Jack just a bit, having been dying to touch him for days. Lyndon thought that it was probably good for him though, it might help to get him more comfortable with it for the love of the Prophet... and Jack had certainly _liked_ it enough, what with all the writhing and moaning and _clawing_ at him- _Gods_. There was a lot he wanted to teach him, to _show_ him, but to push for more would have been too much. It would have been a rotten thing to do, and he had exhausted his tolerance for doing rotten things.

He was tired of hurting people for his own selfish desires. Least of all the Demon Hunter who had practically been bending over backwards for him lately. He was tired of everyone fussing over him, tired of Jack dragging himself around and acting miserable, well, _more_ miserable, because of him.

Lyndon could not think of a word to describe what they had become, so he just stuck with 'a friendship with benefits,' even though that didn't sound quite right either. A bit too cold. It was unusual for him to stay with one person so long, once they started to care too much he took it as his cue to _leave_. But with Jack... it wasn't an option to leave, not anymore. ( _Maybe not ever._ ) He couldn't call it love, because then it would have the power to hurt him, and he didn't think he could live through that pain a second time. All he knew was that he cared enough to stay, and that was enough for now.

Lyndon thought he should apologize to Jack for what he'd said. The thing about not understanding the rest of them. The hunter did understand grief and pain, much better than most. Lyndon thought of the urn waiting for him the enclave. He didn't think he could face his brother just yet, even if it was only his remains. He was not yet worthy. Edlin was gone, and it felt like the agony would never go away, but if he could help make sure that no one _else_ suffered the same way... then maybe he could still do right by his brother who had always wanted to help others. 

He shouldn't wallow in his own self pity while other people were dying. He was tired of doing nothing while the world around him went to Hell. His brother would expect better of him.

And Rea. A name that brought him far more misery than it did happiness. He wanted to know what had happened to Edlin, why she had done it, if she even _had._ Was it still the Thieves Guild? Attempting to perhaps trick him into going after her and lead him into an even bigger trap? He knew that they would never stop hunting him. It was torture to think of her and what might have become of her and her children, so he made himself stop.

He was hired to do a job a long time ago: guard the Demon Hunter's back, and keep him from killing himself. Well, the “keep him from killing himself” bit was a recent addition, but no less important. Worrying about someone else made it easier to not think on himself, so he embraced that. The man was an absolute mess without him, if the desperate relief he'd seen on Jack's face when he told him he'd stay was any indication.

Even if the guilt had lessened significantly, it was still _his_ fault for getting his brother in prison in the first place. He would have all the time in the world to hate and debase himself once this was over, but he would not hurt Jack anymore then he already had. No more people would suffer because of him. But in order to be useful again he needed to get himself sorted right bloody _now_.

So he did.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

After cleaning up and getting dressed, they wandered back to the enclave, Jack filling in the blanks about what he'd been doing since Lyndon had been busy feeling sorry for himself. It was getting towards late afternoon now and the coming darkness brought a creeping dread for what still crawled around in the city, but... getting a perfect view of the hunter's arse wrapped in those _impossibly_ form fitting trousers really took the edge of terror off. Lyndon felt quite smug over the fact that Jack was wobbly legged, flushed and glassy eyed, and even as he spoke, looked more relaxed overall- and _Gods alive_ , he was already thinking about when he'd be able to kiss him again.

Perhaps he _did_ have a problem after all.

Upon entering the enclave, they quickly observed a man standing on a small crate who was addressing a group of pathetically desperate looking people.

“Who the Hell is _that_?” Jack muttered curiously, but already annoyed. Well, so much for _relaxing_ a little.

“I alone can commune with our lord. Malthael rewards his followers generously. For a small fee I can urge him to spare friends and family by bestowing upon them a blessing.” Being one himself, Lyndon knew a shyster when he saw one. He'd done similar things of course, but never to this degree. It actually made him feel a bit better knowing that he would never have done something so awful, even when his bad habits had been at their height. He was a thief through and through, but he wanted to believe he had never been _this_ rotten.

“Please bless my children!” One tearful woman shouted with the desperation that was born from deepest fear.

“Yes! And my wife!” Another man cried, and more people, mostly empty headed nobles, pushed forward, eager to somehow buy their way out of this like they did every other little problem. Ah, to be rich and... _ignorant_.

“Please, I have time for all, please just... form a _line_ -” The con man shouted over the eager throng.

To say that Jack was not amused, would be to put it mildly.

The hunter walked over to him calmly, easily shouldering people out of the way with his height, and in front of _everyone_ , grabbed the swindler by the throat. There were some gasps from the people standing in line there but no one stepped in to stop the Demon Hunter. Jack's eyes kindled Hellfire and he snarled at the man, face inches from his. “ _Give them back their gold and get out of here before that box you're standing on becomes your coffin_.” He growled dangerously.

Color vacated the silly bastard's face and Lyndon grinned as the man dropped his bag of collected gold and practically fell over himself to get away from Jack, and indeed vacate the enclave. Once he was gone, the Demon Hunter was left suddenly alone in front of a group of staring people. For the briefest moment he froze, but it was only a moment.

“Do not try to buy your way out of Death or look to others to save you, rely on _yourself_.” Jack ground out, then quickly left the crowd to rejoin the scoundrel.

“Were you sent by _Akarat_ to save us?” Lyndon quietly teased, “Inner _strength_ and all that.”

“ _Shut up_ Lyndon!” The Demon Hunter snapped. Ah, so he _was_ feeling better then.

There was some odd barking noises and some glowing blue skeletal beast came running for them, and for a fleeting moment, the thief was on alert, thinking that Malthael's forces had somehow breached the protective sanctuary of-

-was Jack _petting_ that thing?

“What.... is _that_?” Lyndon asked seriously with a scowl, pointing an accusatory finger at the little beast.

Jack, at the very least, had the decency to make an _attempt_ at looking sheepish. “...I found it... in the Repository...” Jack replied quietly. The... _thing_ , appeared to be panting excitedly like any dog would, but it had no lungs to draw breath nor indeed any tongue to loll stupidly out of its mouth. It was just a bloody glowing skeleton.

“Get rid of it. _Right now_.” He felt like he was scolding a child, but _really_ now, it was too much. “You already have enough bloody pets. _Living_ ones are one thing, but an undead, blue dog... skeleton... thing, is _entirely_ another!”

“I like it. I'm keeping it for now.” Jack said to him curtly and headed toward the campfire.

Lyndon closed his eyes briefly and let a careful breath out through his nose. “Steaming _Hells_...” he muttered irritably, watching the hunter walk away with that glowing blue beast yipping at his heels. “At least it'll make a good _torch_ in the dark.” He thought aloud, catching up with Jack. “And at least it can't bloody _drool_ on me like that wolf.” He finished angrily.

“I don't know about that...” Jack replied as they both observed some kind of blue slime leaking out of it's ridiculous gaping mouth. Lyndon made a face.

“Akarat's _mercy,_ how do I put up with you?” The thief asked, exasperated.

“Hm.” Was the only reply he got.

Jack wobbled to the fire and greeted Eirena, Kormac, who were casting the thief very _uncertain_ looks and commanded. “Sit. Eat something.” Before he walked on ahead, presumably to talk to Tyrael and stare at that wretched rock again. Annoyed, but feeling as if he should try to appease the man for having so _rudely_ jumped on him in the forest, Lyndon obeyed without complaint. He was hungry anyways.

He sat himself down, and smiled at Eirena and Kormac who were staring at him. Swallowing, he spoke, "Eirena, I'm sorry I shouted at you." Lyndon apologized hesitantly, with a quick glance at the Templar who was staring at him. She only smiled cheerfully, shaking her head, “That is quite alright, you were upset. Eat this.” And then she proceeded to downright _spoil_ him. She gave him an apple, on top of a bowl of soup, and then bread and ham and _cake_ ... Gods, he was so _hungry_ . It wasn't a new thing for him to starve a little, he grew up in the slums after all, but he hadn't really gone hungry ever since joining Jack on his quest. How did the man stand going _without_ food so often as he did.

While he ate, feeling better with every mouthful, he decided that he felt good enough to tease the Templar a bit.

“Kormac, I have some good news.” Lyndon began sweetly, mouth full.

“And what pray is that?” The Templar asked, attempting to be _amiable_ toward him, the scoundrel thought.

“Westmarch is _saved_ , you can stop being so miserable! Or... at least return to your normal level of misery.” The thief proclaimed airily.

“I'm not _miserable_. I'm just... thinking.” Kormac replied distractedly, turning pink.

“Oh dear... This _is_ serious!” The scoundrel said and winked at him, assuming it was about Eirena. The Templar frowned at him. It was a rather impressive display of self control Lyndon thought, he'd usually be shouting at him, or at the very least, giving him a sour look by now.

Then Kormac, laughed, actually _laughed,_ just a little bit. “I'm glad you're- I'm glad you're feeling _better_ Lyndon.” He said.

Lyndon smiled at the Templar warmly, feeling, for once, like he actually _belonged_ here. “Me too.” He answered quietly. Haedrig had said he had friends here, and he'd been reluctant to believe him, thinking that everyone but Jack, the blacksmith (and occasionally Shen) merely tolerated him... well... that left just Eirena and Kormac didn't it? They were the only ones that were so close to the Demon Hunter that he didn't think liked him very much at all.

They sat together for a while, chatting about this and that. For once they didn't argue, they didn't fight, Kormac didn't get upset and Eirena didn't get offended... and Lyndon decided that it was _good_ to have friends.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

After a while, Lyndon was beginning to wonder where Jack had got off to, surely he couldn't still be talking to Tyrael after all this time? Excusing himself from the fire, he wandered in the direction the hunter had gone. But as he passed Myriam's caravan, she beckoned for him to come over.

“Sorry, terribly busy.” He called to her nonchalantly.

“So good to see you up and about celdo, I've just made some tea. I understand you are a great _lover_ of teas. Won't you come and have a sit with Myriam?” She answered slyly, patting the seat on the steps next to her.

Vile temptress, he _loved_ tea.

“Well... maybe just one cup and a few minutes.” Lyndon conceded, coming over.

She poured him a cup and handed it to him. He sat on the steps of her caravan and took a sip, then sighed, feeling almost content for the first time in days. A good cup of tea could soothe most hurts he decided. Almost as well as a few bottles of wine. He stared at the wolf who had stretched herself out by one of the many outdoor stoves the Mystic had set up, warming her belly by the fire and flicking the end of her bushy tail off and on.

“This is a Chai tea from out monk friends to the north in Ivgorod. Have you ever had Chai tea, love?” Myriam asked him sweetly while he stared around at the rather _expensive_ looking ornaments hanging from her tapestries.

“I have. In Caldeum, rather expensive but I liked it well enough.” The scoundrel answered her.

“Cardamon seeds, native to Ivgorod are likely responsible for the steep price. Cardamon, allspice, star anise, cloves, nutmeg and a touch of white pepper.” She listed. “Not to mention sugar and cinnamon and the black tea that makes it a tea.”

“Spices that would fetch a small fortune, though all do not equal the price of Saffron, worth its weight in gold.” He replied knowledgeably. “And coincidentally, the very color it produces in food might remind one of gold.”

“You know your _spices_!” She exclaimed, delighted.

“A good thief knows the value of _many_ things.” He answered with a grin.

“Yes, but do you know _why_ Saffron is so valuable?” Myriam asked, testing him.

“Because it is harvested only a few threads at a time from pretty purple flowers that blossom at dawn and wilt before sunset.” The thief recalled.

She smiled, “Quite right.” and he nodded absently at her, proud to have still remembered so much.

“Have you ever met a monk?” She asked, setting the teapot back onto the small fire near other, rather _alarming_ looking pots bubbling with strange sparkling substances. They smelled... sweet, so he guessed they were probably safe. Best not to investigate too closely though. Anything that was _that_ particular, vibrant shade of pink probably shouldn't come into contact with human skin.

“I met a girl one once. Her hair was white and cut quite short, but she was _very_ pretty...” He answered the Mystic, thinking back to where he had met her. The Kingsport merchants market? Or was it Lut Gholein?

“Very strong, the monks of Ivgorod. And a very _kind_ people.” Myriam answered conversationally.

“Oh, are they? I seem to remember getting a nasty black eye from that girl.” He said sulking a bit as he remembered just how _hard_ she had bloody hit him, practically knocked him on his arse. “After I so _nicely_ invited her to bed with me too.”

Myriam laughed at that. “Perhaps you were not as patient then as you are now.”

“Perhaps.” Lyndon replied airily, wondering where this was even going.

“And how has your new found patience _rewarded_ you celdo?” She said after a moment. Ah, so _this_ was why she wanted to talk to him.

Lyndon sighed. “I don't kiss and tell.” He muttered, taking another long swig of tea. It was a lie. He _absolutely_ did. Usually. But he did not want to _upset_ Jack who was so easily embarrassed about such things.

She giggled girlishly and eyed him with interest, “You can tell Myriam, she can keep a secret.” The Mystic pressed.

“Ah, ply me with tea and try to get me to dish. I see how it is, you really are a busybody aren't you? Almost as bad as that bloody blacksmith.” Lyndon sighed, irritated. “Besides, he'll get mad at me, and that's something I'd prefer to avoid.”

“He is quite sweet on you, no?” She continued, as if he hadn't said anything at all.

“If by _sweet_ , you mean _ignoring_ me, then _yelling_ at me as much as possible. Until I can get him _alone_ , however, then yes. _Very_ sweet.” Lyndon snapped.

“He is only afraid.” She said gently.

“So you've told me.” Lyndon answered, starting to feel a little depressed.

“You must know he cares about you, and your other friends care about you as well. They were very worried for you. We _all_ were.” Myriam remarked to him.

“Hmph, that's news to _me_.” Lyndon said evenly. “Kormac doesn't like me, despite how I've tried to make amends, Eirena thinks poorly of me too, probably because Kormac is always filling her head with his _morality_ drivel. Jack and Haedrig and Shen are the _only_ ones who talk to me. It's always been that way.” Lyndon hissed at her, frustrated by her prying questions. He knew it wasn't entirely true, because they had been much nicer to him lately. But it was probably just out of pity. He didn't want or need their pity, he had _more_ than enough from his own wretched self.

“That is three out of five dear, and now four out of six, because I _love_ your company!” Myriam replied with a laugh.

The thief smiled a bit at that. “I _suppose_... but they're such good friends with Jack and I _can't_...” He trailed off. “I just _want_...” He began again, but he couldn't quite think of the right words.

“I don't know.” He finished quietly. He didn't know what he wanted, he was just tired of being alone, and being _hated_.

“You want to fit in because you are lonely. You want them to see you for who you really are.” She said, echoing his thoughts.

“Oh? Who am I really then?” He shot back a bit nervously. Gods, could she read his bloody _mind_? What was with that and... _magically_ inclined people? Her words hit home, much more accurately then he thought they would.

“You tell _me_ love.” Myriam replied gently.

Lyndon sighed, and she refilled his teacup.

“Ah, I have something for you.” The mystic said suddenly, reaching, rather _deeply_ into the cleavage of her ample breasts. Well, at least she wasn't _shy_.

“...Oh?” Lyndon could only answer stupidly, staring. Blood of the prophet, how could any woman have tits that big and still be able to _sit up_ properly? What the hell was _in_ there anyway? A bloody wrapped gift box?

She triumphantly removed a small bag and handed it to him. He cautiously opened it to see that it was filled with a bunch of leafy looking material. Dried leaves and the like.

“A... tea?” Lyndon asked, confused.

“Of a kind. It is a very strong tea that will induce a _dreamless_ sleep. Brew it like you would your favorite black. I think our Demon Hunter will have need of it very soon.” She said cryptically. “His dreams are very bad aren't they?” She asked sadly.

Lyndon nodded anxiously. Of _course_ she knew.

“Tonight they will be worse.” Myriam stated.

“... How do you know _that_?” Lyndon asked curiously, pocketing the bag.

Then Jack was there and he was running to them. “Malthael has begun to alter the stone. But we still don't know where he _is_.” The Demon Hunter spat furiously.

“There is one... who may be able to tell you. But you will not like it. She hides in the Blood Marsh and you know her well. Adria.” Myriam said immediately, as if she had been merely waiting all this time for Jack to come to them.

Jack's eyes changed then, and there was a horrible, twisted _joy_ in them that made Lyndon _very_ nervous. The man had been wanting this, he'd been aching to kill her for _months_ , and now was his chance. _Their_ chance.

For Leah.

“ _At last_.” Jack said, eyes kindling Hellfire.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, took longer to update this. Writer's block, working, and actually -playing- Diablo III, ahuehue...
> 
> Slightly shorter chapter, next one will likely be long again.


	10. Blood and Water: Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lyndon gets special treatment, Lorath becomes useful, and Boggits throw a fiery party.

_Hurrying forward again, Sam tripped, catching his foot in some old root or tussock. He fell and came heavily on his hands, which sank deep into sticky ooze, so that his face was brought close to the surface of the dark mere. There was a faint hiss, a noisome smell went up, the lights flickered and danced and swirled. For a moment the water below him looked like some window, glazed with grimy glass, through which he was peering. Wrenching his hands out of the bog, he sprang back with a cry. “There are dead things, dead faces in the water,” he said with horror. “Dead faces!” Gollum laughed. “The Dead Marshes, yes, yes: that is their names,” he cackled. “You should not look in when the candles are lit.”_  
— _The Two Towers,_ J.R.R Tolkien 

 

They were ready to go in minutes, as if they'd somehow known all along that something was bound to happen eventually after the three days of quiet. Though, it was likely the months of combat and hunting the demon lords across the world that made everyone so bloody twitchy. Lyndon included, he rarely moved anywhere without his crossbow within arm's reach.

Eirena, who had been perhaps the most heartbroken by Leah's murder, (if you could turn grief into a pissing contest) after Jack of course, wore a resolute expression and was grabbing colored jars and vials and all manner of strange, mystical looking items and throwing them into her bag. Kormac seemed eager as ever to get back into the fight and fidgeted a bit while Jack had his blades sharpened at the blacksmith. The scoundrel, well he was ready enough. He had put on his best, roadworthy boots when he heard the word “marsh,” assuming it would be another slog like the Festering Woods in the east.

Honestly, as badly as he needed a distraction from his guilt and depression, he _really_ wasn't looking forward to this.

Oh, he wanted Adria dead as badly as the next fellow, and Leah had been his friend too, or so he liked to think, but he did not like the change that had come over the Demon Hunter at the mention of the witch. It was just like before he killed the Prime. A steely calm, with a rabid ferocity bubbling just beneath the surface. A bit _not_ good.

The only thing that helped him feel just slightly better was the fact that he would be coming along again to try to keep the man from losing his temper too completely, and the thing Myriam had said to him earlier. ' _His dreams will be worse tonight,'_ Not that this was a _good_ thing, it just meant that Jack wasn't going to die, which implied that they would win, and _that_ was comforting.

Though, that didn't say anything about the survival chance for the _rest_ of them.

The four of them and the wolf approached the gates that led out of the enclave when they spotted Lorath waiting there. Jack just walked on past him as if he weren't there at all, with the three of them reluctantly following, casting the man vaguely apologetic glances, but then Lorath spoke up:

“You're not going anywhere without me.” He said, and to his credit, the fledgling Horadrim's voice held no trace of the fear and uncertainty Lyndon had heard when they'd first met.

“No? And why is that?” Jack asked, turning to face him, expression slightly murderous. The scoundrel assumed Lorath's courage would not last. Sometimes he forgot how intimidating Jack could be. Well, actually he forgot _all_ the time because he had never been all that afraid of him to begin with. He had only been frightened by him in that way twice.

“ _Someone_ has to make sure you don't kill Adria before we find out where Malthael is.” The Horadrim insisted with as much authority as he could muster.

“They are enough.” Jack said simply, indicating the three of them, and Lyndon grinned a bit at that. “Oh, _are_ we?”The thief asked wryly and received a dirty look from the hunter. Eirena was smiling happily, despite the man's scowl, and even Kormac seemed heartened by Jack's words.

“Perhaps, but they do not know the Blood Marsh and the ruins of Corvus as I do.” Lorath explained, standing firm. Jack seemed to consider this, tilting his dark head just slightly and narrowing his eyes.

“Very well, but know this _Horadrim_. Tyrael respects you enough to initiate you into his order, but do not think for a single moment that you can tell me what to do.” Jack said dangerously, then spoke no more. Lyndon merely sighed and rolled his eyes, then shrugged at Lorath. Eirena smiled gently at him and Kormac clapped the man firmly on the back, nearly causing his knees to buckle.

The poor bastard likely had no idea what he was in for.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Twisted, craggy trees framed the narrow stone pathway they tread upon, creating a dark canopy overhead that made the night come that much faster. Even in late Harvest, which should have brought a distinct, crispness to the air, it was humid in the marshes. The air was thick and had a distinct _flavor_ to it, like old dead leaves piled several layers deep over long rotted pumpkin crops. Something else there too, something foul and coppery, a bit like, well... a bit like _blood_. The air was so thick, and so oppressive that Lyndon felt like he could almost _see_ it, everything was washed pinkish-orange in the fading light and that particular sickly hue only brought to mind thoughts of decay, and death, and _rot_.

“I wonder how many things have died here...” Jack muttered gravely, well at least they both seemed to be on the same grim page. For once. And at least the man had finally _said_ something, he hadn't spoken since they'd left the city.

“I wonder how many of them haven't!” Lyndon called back, stepping carefully over some long dead... _thing_ , that lay in the path. “This must be where everyone comes to _vomit_ after a long night at the taverns.” He added with a grimace of disgust.

“Indeed, I've never much _cared_ for this area... but now it seems infected with some foul magic.” Kormac answered. Lyndon forgot that the Templar was actually _from_ Westmarch. He thought Jack might have been too, but he wasn't quite sure, all he knew was that it wasn't the capitol, a small town nearby likely... a town that was gone now.

“It seems like it used to be quite beautiful, especially in the blooming season.” Eirena reflected wistfully. And Kormac turned pink. “I-I'm sure it used to be _quite_ lovely, yes.”

Lyndon snorted, unable to contain himself, and Kormac stomped on his foot with a heavy, plated boot. The thief yelped and Jack, scouting several yards ahead, stopped and whipped his head back with a lightning quickness, and with a distinctly alarmed expression on his face. Confused, Lyndon merely blinked at him, wondering what in the Hell had startled him so. Surely not his _yell_...

When Jack had turned away, Kormac shot him a curious look, and Lyndon shrugged at him, equally confused himself. Was Jack so frightened for him that he would jump at the slightest sound? The thought made the thief feel quite guilty. The poor man had enough things burdening his mind, with a little effort, he would prove to the Demon Hunter that he shouldn't worry so much. Lyndon could keep up with the rest of them in combat just fine.

Instead of continuing his long silence, the Demon Hunter chose to engage in conversation. “The Horadrim have returned at a strange time.” He said flatly.

“Tyrael rebuilt the order to help him take the Soulstone from Heaven, and to protect mankind.” Lorath answered him, quickening his pace to catch up with Jack. “After all, you can't be everywhere at once, no matter how powerful you are.” The Horadrim added.

“ _Evidently_.” Jack spat, startling the young man. Lyndon suspected that being unable to help other lands and cities that were still being attacked was something that gnawed at the Demon Hunter. Kindhearted as he was, it was always difficult for Jack to stand by and do nothing while others suffered. Lorath _probably_ shouldn't have brought it up.

Deflated, Lorath hung back a little until he was keeping pace with Lyndon instead. Eirena, who perhaps felt a bit sorry for him, tried to converse with the young Horadrim instead. “Lorath, how did you come to join the Horadrim?” She asked with interest.

The young man, smiled at her. “Eirena is it? It's lovely to finally meet you, I'd been so _busy_ before.... I've heard much of you from Tyrael and Kormac.” Lorath said to her amiably.

“Only good things I hope.” Eirena answered sweetly, and Lyndon bit his lip to keep from laughing while he watched Kormac's face change color.

“Haha, yes. But to answer your question, my father was the commander of the Knights of Westmarch, and he thought I would become a soldier, just like him.”

“Ah, another Westmarch _native_ , just like us eh Jack?” Kormac crowed happily. The Demon Hunter did not respond. Ah, so he _was_ from here, though perhaps not from the city itself? Lyndon made a mental note to ask him about it later... if he wasn't too _upset_ about it _._

“But you didn't like the idea of a stuffy life with strict guidelines, you wanted something more... _interesting_ I take it?” Lyndon chimed in.

“Indeed. I grew up on tales of the Horadrim as a boy, Tal Rasha and Jared Cain. I wanted to be a warrior who could wield powerful magics, hunting demons across exotic lands. I wanted to be my _own_ man.” Lorath declared excitedly.

“A Demon Hunter eh? That sounds rather familiar.” Lyndon muttered, and Eirena giggled. Lyndon eyed the Demon Hunter, but the man did not look back at them though the thief knew he was undoubtedly listening.

“My father thought the tales of the Horadrim were all myth. Imagine his surprise when I actually became one of them.” Lorath said with a smile.

The water was getting deeper in some parts of the path, and a few times their feet would sink into mud or watery holes. He hated bogs. Lyndon sighed, hoping that his feet wouldn't get wet, these boots were holding up well so far. He'd already had more than enough of cold water and not _nearly_ enough warm skin to banish the chill.

Lyndon stared at the hunter's back, wondering how much longer they would be able to conceal this _thing_ they had between them. Especially if things got messy. Which, knowing their usual luck, was _highly_ likely. He spared a glance at Eirena's feet, remembering that she had a tendency to wear pretty. Yet, not quite so functional, footwear. Though she seemed to have wizened up and dressed down, donning some dainty, well made looking... leather things. Kormac still wore heavy plated boots, as Lyndon's _still_ aching foot could attest to.

“I hope Haedrig knows how to remove rust from boots...” Kormac uttered, sounding vaguely depressed. Ha, _idiot._

Their meandering path began to wind upwards as squishy, Sanctuary soil, gave way to firm, stone steps, wrapped with hanging moss. Oriental bittersweet with its red and yellow berries held firm to stone crevices, winding among virginia creeper, whose five-leaf clusters had already turned deep red in the late season. Jack had told him the names of several plants while they had traveled together, and he was glad to have remembered at least _two_ of them (though it was likely just because they were _pretty_ ). The hunter had said that though names didn't much matter unless you had a specific use for them, it was nice to know their names nonetheless because then you felt more familiar with your surroundings, like being among old friends. And indeed, the wilderness felt just _slightly_ less foreign, which was comforting.

Lyndon stared at the steps as they climbed, scrutinizing the little trailing shrubs he stepped over. Green leaves, little red berries....

“Jack?” He asked.

“Yes?” The hunter answered immediately, which was quite unusual, especially because he was in such a _mood_.

“Are these little plants wintergreen?” Lyndon asked curiously. Perhaps he could chew on one and banish the wretched bog air taste from his mouth.

“No. They are partridge berry. The two are easily confused though. Wintergreen do not grow on a vine as these do and they have _four_ or so oval leaves with red berries. An easy way to tell them apart is the white stripe on a partridge berry leaf, where wintergreen leaves have no stripe at all....and I _did_ see wintergreen earlier, so you are not too far off.” Jack explained patiently, telling him much more than he had ever expected. Hell, he hadn't even expected an answer at _all_. The thief suddenly realized that he was getting special treatment from the Demon Hunter and smiled slightly. He glanced at Eirena and Kormac and they were giving him odd looks that seemed to ask _why are_ you _so bloody special_? He shrugged at them, grinning wolfishly. Hm. Why indeed?

Though... privately he hoped no one _else_ would tiptoe around his feelings. He hated being babied.

“Jack?” Lorath asked hesitantly while they continued to climb the steps. The hunter _did_ look back at him in acknowledgment, but did not speak, instead he trailed his fingertips over the back of the wolf as she moved ahead of him, bounding up the steps two at a time.

“Can I ask you about Deckard Cain?” The young Horadrim asked gently. Jack cast his eyes downwards and seemed to consider his question carefully. “He was a great ally, a guide. He never wavered. Had he lived... things might be very different.” He answered tonelessly. Lyndon sighed, Lorath did not have a gift for asking the _right_ questions...

“Can one man really make such a difference?” Lorath inquired curiously.

“Obviously, yes.” Kormac chimed in. “Look at all the good Jack has done!”

“Now is not the time to speak of this.” The Demon Hunter said quickly as they reached the top of the staircase. “ _Ah, but the subtle differences between partridge berry and wintergreen is perfectly fine eh_?” Lorath whispered to Lyndon wryly. The thief laughed a bit at that, it _was_ a rather curious thing. “ _What can I say? I'm the favorite_.” He whispered back with a wink. He thought Lorath might have smiled, but the bottom have of his face was hidden by cloth so Lyndon couldn't be sure.

“When this is all over, I'd like to see more of Westmarch, I'm sure parts of it are still beautiful.” Eirena mused aloud.

Ooo! Time to stir up trouble for his own amusement!

“I can give you the _special_ tour Eirena.” Lyndon offered sweetly, she only looked at him curiously, then Kormac quickly cut in. “Not _Lyndon_! He would only show you the underbelly of the city!” Kormac bellowed loudly, scowling at the thief. Ahh, ol' Kormac was as predictable as a sunset.

“Allow me to show you the city that _I_ know.” Kormac continued airily, confidence weak, but there all the same. Perhaps he could give the poor Templar some pointers later on? It might provide more amusement at least.

“I think I would like that.” Eirena answered with a glittering smile, and Kormac smiled back, looking twice as stupid as he had before, only this time even his _ears_ were red.

The thief continued craning his head all around, looking at all the different trees and plants around him, trying to think of an even _less_ important question to ask to see if Jack would answer it again. It was nice to be paid attention to, even a few weeks ago the hunter was not quite as amiable toward him as he had been quite recently. Lyndon liked to think that Jack had grown quite fond of him lately, and he hoped it stayed that way. It was nice having a close friend.... he'd never really had a friend like him since Ed- _think of something else, you useless sod!_

He had another thought that Jack was only being nice to make up for having ignored him for almost two days when he had been at his lowest. Had the silly bastard really been so afraid that he couldn't have just talked to him at least once? Haedrig had, and even poor Brycen had made an attempt. Piss-poor as it had been.

Granted, they had talked after... but even still, they were supposed to be _friends_.

With... _benefits_. Why was he like that? Why were friends and lovers so bloody scary to him? Too afraid of _losing_ people... as Myriam and Haedrig had said to him. Really, it didn't seem like enough to warrant such bizarre behavior. Lyndon had never dealt with the like before, had never even tried _half_ this hard to make something work. Really, if they didn't show interest quickly enough he moved on. His fault for giving a damn about the man's happiness he supposed... He sighed. So much for thinking about something _nice_...

He hoped he and Jack could get to a point where they could have a proper shag. That would be a great pick-me-up. Only if Jack didn't get another case of the jitters, however. He'd stopped himself the last time, and even the time before that, purely out of niceness and a need to not hurt or frighten the man. Lyndon wasn't sure how many more times he was going to be able to stop himself from just _taking_ him there on the bloody ground, _hard_ and _fast_ and _deep_ and Mmm-

 _Good save_ , he congratulated himself. Think about _nice_ things.

And while he so busily thought of nice things, he nearly walked smack into the hunter's back as Jack stopped suddenly at the top of the stairs. They had come to a level platform surrounded by crumbling stone archways and a big pile of boulders sat off to their left.

Lorath hurried up in front of them. “This... this isn't right! The entrance should be right here! Something... or some _one_ has collapsed it!” He exclaimed.

“Adria.” Jack growled, narrowing his candle-flame eyes in displeasure.

Oh right, that's why they were out here in the first place, to find that awful _witch_.

“Is there _another_ way in? Or should we start digging?” Kormac asked, frustrated.

“This wasn't the main entrance, it's just one of many. There are guide stones all over the marsh, but I've not been able to make them work as intended. I believe that only a Nephalem can activate them.” Lorath quickly explained, pointing ahead, and depressingly _deeper_ into the foul marshland.

“Good thing we happen to have one with us. Let's go then.” Lyndon said with a cheer he didn't really feel.

Lorath sighed, pulling an ancient looking map with pretty gold writing from his bag. “I can still lead the way alright with this, though I didn't explore much beyond the-”

“Sh.”Jack interrupted quickly, holding up a hand for silence. “Do you hear that?”

They listened. Oppressing silence at first, then ambient howls of beasts and whatever lived around there became more readily apparent, though it was nothing particular unusual for such a nasty place and- ...then something _rhythmic_.

“Drums?” Eirena asked curiously.

“Perhaps. We should stay close together from now on I think.” Jack said seriously, finally casting Lyndon a glance, and slowing his quick pace to walk alongside the fledgling Horadrim to better follow his directions.

The last time they had heard drums it had been a Khazra bonfire. Lyndon assumed whatever _this_ was would be equally as unpleasant.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

They continued deeper into the marsh. It was completely dark now, save a gentle light that Eirena had conjured in her palm, then placed at the top of her staff. It cast a flickering glow over pools of liquid, dark and still as a sheet of black ice. The trees had dropped out of sight and now there seemed to be no discernible barrier, no definition between ground and sky save for the small, conjured light, that shimmered a faint purple. Lyndon had heard many tales of men going missing in such places, swallowed whole by the bog. In Kingsport, people who told the stories called these parts 'The Moors', never 'The Blood Marshes.' He wasn't sure which one sounded more ominous. As a child, listening to the orphanage headmistress tell them stories about such places always frightened him, and he'd often laid awake at night long after the tales had ended. Once, he had even been so scared as to sleep in his brother's bed, and Edlin, good brother that he was had never teased him about it and-

_Stop. Don't._

He was not the scaredy cat now that he had been then. At least, he liked to think so. Since he'd been to _Hell_ and all and come out that disaster alright enough. But even still, he kept up with the Demon Hunter, walking close beside him, the wolf at his hip. It was easy enough to rest a hand on the beast's back and reach his fingertips into her soft, slightly dew moistened fur and hold on a little bit. With the wolf at his fingertips, he could maybe see why Jack found such comfort in the animals he kept. He _had_ noticed a slight squirming sensation in his backpack earlier, and after being briefly terrified it was a giant spider of some kind, realized that it was those damned bloody ferrets nesting in his things again. More weight to carry in this wretched marsh. Moors. Whatever.

There was a foul stench in the air now, much worse then before, and indeed almost as unpleasant as a sewer. There was a toxic edge to it, like there was something deeply poisonous residing somewhere. Or rotting. Likely both.

Thinking back, he even remembered something about things as big as _horses_ being swallowed by bogs, and then their corpses found, perfectly preserved, years afterward. And... something about deserter soldiers from Leoric's army, that failed attack on Westmarch the mad king had ordered. The soldiers were said to have fled to the Moors, only to become lost in the endless, twisting paths of the marsh. Never to be seen again.

And still they could hear the drums, closer now. He shivered a little.

“There is a powerful magic here that is most foul.” Eirena whispered, the first words anyone had said for some time. He could hear her very clearly in the quiet. “An old magic.”

“I won't be late _this_ time Adria.” Jack hissed, almost to himself. Oh, that's right, Jack was _agonizing_ over this.

Lorath looked up from his map. “Remember to to get the information on Malthael _before_ you-”

“Fine.” Jack interrupted tersely.

Great, now he was going to be even _more_ -

-and Lyndon was jerked back by his shirt collar with such quickness and force that he nearly fell backwards onto Kormac.

“ _Please_ watch where you're going.” Jack pleaded, helping the thief get his balance back with a firm hand on his forearm, then he released him. Lyndon blinked and looked around for what he should have been watching out for. He saw that a reddish, bubbling liquid had burst up from within the bog and Lyndon fearfully wondered how thick the layer of ground they tread upon actually _was_.

“Sorry...” He apologized sheepishly. But he really hadn't seen it. He glanced at it again and noticed the foul poisonous smell.

“It's alright, just... be careful.” Jack muttered, sounding a little distressed.

“Eugh. I think that water is more poisonous then my _bolts_.” He remarked, trying to be as careful as he could. They all slowed their pace, trying to watch their feet.

“Yes.” Kormac answered. “It wasn't always like this though, there shouldn't be any poison in this water, it flows down from the northern mountains!”

“Adria's corruption has tainted the very land.” Eirena said to him, and they all went quiet again, the beating of drums the only sound, loud and echoing in a way that didn't tell them what direction they came from. There was a glow ahead that flickered like firelight, but they couldn't see it well enough to know what was there.

After many more quiet and tense minutes of tip toeing on decidedly unstable ground, the soil firmed up again and then they were once more walking on stone. It was heavily coated with moss and organic matter, but was much more comfortable then ground that could birth poison pools at any moment.

They came to a ledge and Jack suddenly pulled Lorath down to the ground beside him, and crouched there, very still. Kormac, Eirena and Lyndon who were slightly behind reacted quickly and they all crept up to the edge of the short cliff, hiding in the foliage.

What they saw down there was _bizarre_ to say the least. The cliff, wasn't actually much of a cliff after all, it was only a few feet to drop down to an open grassy space with some kind of a stone structure sitting in the center. Many torches had been lit, which explained the fire glow, and there were many little... _creatures_ down there, forty or fifty at least, dancing and moving around a strange structure that resembled a man, cobbled together from sticks and grasses. Some of them were beating crazily on little drums, which finally explained the noise.

It was very lucky that none of them had been seen, Jack's clothes were black and since he had been ahead, he probably just blended right in with the darkness. And those little pig-faced, porcupine creatures looked quite busy with their little party anyways.

“Are those... _boggits_?” Kormac asked in disbelief.

“Yes. It appears so.” Jack answered in a whisper. Lyndon assumed it was something native to Westmarch, if Kormac and Jack were both familiar with the things.

“And that stone structure is one of the guide stones.” Lorath said. “We need to get to it.”

“Boggits are usually quite frightened of people. I think if we go down there they'll likely just run away from us.” Kormac offered.

A thin cry, came, alarmingly, from within the stick-man structure the little beast were prancing around.” HEEELLLPP! ANYONE! HELP ME!” came the yells, and the tick man wobbled a bit, but didn't move much more.

“Is... is there a _man_ in that bloody thing?” Lyndon asked Jack, who he suddenly realized was pressed, oh so _deliciously_ close to him.

“It appears so.” Jack said, eyes flashing in the firelight, loading an arrow into one of his crossbows. “I don't think they're going to run from us after all.” The hunter added, adjusting his position on the ground.

The little boggits or whatever had begun to chant something, “Feed! Feed! Feed!” over and over again. And then one of them, a slightly bigger one approached the wicker-man structure with a torch.

“Akarat's mercy! They're going to _burn_ the poor bastard alive!” Kormac cried. But Jack was up and over the ledge before he had finished speaking, and the rest of them clamored to follow him.

A grenade, neatly tossed into the center of the fray quite suddenly brought the sacrificial festivities to an explosive halt, and the creatures shrieked and scattered- and for a moment Lyndon thought they would run away after all- but then they regrouped and charged them in a wave, squealing and screaming like so many little pigs.

The wolf snapped one up in her jaws immediately and shook it viciously until it was still, then dropped it and snatched another.

Lorath seemed to be faring alright with that great spear he carried, he impaled several at once, ending up with a nice little boggit-kabob, then seemed unsure of how to proceed after that. Lyndon laughed a little at this, then cocked his crossbow, ready to fire.

Eirena let loose a great wave of force and knocked most of them backwards, sending them flying in different directions, while Lyndon- oh and it was _good_ to fight again!- shot carefully aimed rounds of frozen arrows, freezing many of the things solid. Kormac roared and speared the big one with the torch in the back, killing it quickly before it could set the wicker-man alight with the poor man, still howling, inside.

Jack occasionally tossed more grenades, but mostly he hacked at the back of the stick person thing, trying to free the man inside. Lyndon could easily make out his loud, terrified babbling:

“Oh, thank you, thank you. I thought I was done. I was researching a cure for the plague these things sometimes carry and I killed one and cut it open to examine its innards. They smelled it on me, and now they're trying to light me on fire!” The man howled rather indignantly.

“Shut up.” Jack said absently, obviously annoyed, either that or he didn't care what the man said. Likely both.

“Yes, sorry, sorry, Oh, Gods, please _hurry_!” The man shrieked. Jack freed him soon after, pulling him out forcefully, then, after making sure he wasn't seriously hurt (very _nice_ of him) the Demon Hunter jumped into the fight and effortlessly picked off the remaining boggits. The rest of them ran, but one remained and threw a torch at the wicker-man, howling “FEED!”

Lyndon sighed, “Yes, yes, _feed_. Are you happy it's on fire now you little _shit_? _Pretty fire_ yes?” Lyndon said, then killed the horrible thing. Never mind the rubbish he thought before, he bloody _hated_ animals!

When all the things were dead, or had run off, Jack helped the researcher to his feet.

“It's not safe for you out here, but the way back should be clear. Do you know the way out?” Jack asked him seriously. The hunter obviously had no desire to drag such an obviously useless person around with them as they went after Adria.

“Yes, yes thank you. I have a map, I can find my way out, I've spent a lot of time in the marshes for research, but the boggits have never _attacked_ me before!” The researcher explained, looking through his bag that he had found at the base of the now burning wicker-man.

“Some unnatural magic has made these creatures unnaturally aggressive.” Kormac said, “You'd best stay out of the marshes for a while.” He advised.

The man nodded thanks once more, took a torch from the ground and fled in the direction they had come.

“Now we can examine the _guidestone_ at least.” Lorath said, pulling his hood back to better catch his breath. He had short blonde hair, and handsome features. He couldn't have been much older than twenty.

 _Pretty_ as he was, they still didn't need another _baby_ to look after _,_ at least Eirena was good in a fight _._

And then Lyndon saw something behind the Horadrim that was... a bit _unusual_. The wicker-man was-

“Uhm, is that thing _moving_?” Lyndon said, pointing at it.

The wicker man was twisting on its post, struggling to free itself from where it had been tied. They all stared at it stupidly, all equally stunned by the fact that the damned thing was somehow _alive_ , when moments ago it had just been sticks. It was almost a little comical and Lyndon nearly laughed, that weird stick man on fire and wiggling to get at them. Bloody _hilarious_!

“FEED!” It screamed in a voice like rattling leaves, “ _BURN_!” It shouted after and lurched forward from it's post, and that was when the many torches roared to life and jets of fire shot in every direction.

Uhm, suddenly _less_ funny.

They all scattered to avoid the fire, then when they got to safe distance, began shooting at it. Jack fired with a snarl, blasting bits off with each successful hit, but still the thing did not stop coming for them, what did it even _want_? _Where_ did these creatures even come from?

The wolf snapped and howled at it, but, fearing the fire, was unwilling to actually bite it. The Demon Hunter was furious, and lobbed another grenade which landed perfectly in the thing's gaping mouth. It struggled to scream 'Feed!' again, but it sounded more like gibberish with it's mouth full.

Lyndon couldn't help it, he burst out laughing. He hadn't laughed so hard in... he couldn't even remember.

Then the grenade exploded and took the wicker-man's head off. Finally killing it, if it had even been alive to begin with.

Jack stared at him while he wiped at his eyes. “Did that _amuse_ you Lyndon? Us nearly burning alive?” He asked, sounding annoyed.

“Oh, _terribly_.” The thief wheezed. Jack seemed to lose his sour attitude then and smirked a little.

“ _Ridiculous_.” Jack muttered, biting back a smile.

“That was a very old magic.” Eirena explained, “They were making their own warrior to protect them. Much like necromancers raise golems from the soil. I suppose the researcher was a gift to the old gods, to empower their warrior.”

“Fat lot of good it did the little beasts.” Lyndon muttered. “Most of them are dead.”

Lorath examined the guidestone, “Nothing happens when I approach it.” He said to Jack as the hunter holstered his weapons.

“Let me take a look.” Jack said, coming over to examine it. The Demon Hunter had barely touched it when a column of blue light shot into the sky, and a three stone squares etched with sigils became illuminated at their feet.

“Earth, fire, air and water. These symbols mark the correct entrances to Corvus, the others lead to dead ends. We've already eliminated... _fire_ coincidentally.” Lorath said, brushing his fingertips over the unlit fire stone.

“Just three left then. Are the other guidestones close?” Jack asked impatiently.

“Yes, they're not much further.” Lorath answered hastily, unfurling his map again.

They could hear more howls all of a sudden, more of those wretched boggits. _Great._

“I think we've made them angry. It sounds like more are coming.” Kormac said, heaving his heavy shield up onto its place on his back.

“Yes, we should go.” Jack answered quickly, already following the Horadrim.

Lyndon sighed, listening to the sounds of those little beasts coming closer, gods it sounded like there were hundreds. The escaped ones had probably _tattled_ on them.“You know I _just_ remembered why no one comes out here!” Lyndon said as they broke into a run in a bid to outpace the spiny little bastards.

“Why?” Jack asked, running beside him.

“It's _terrible_.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More dendrology self indulgence.
> 
> Also: The Burning Man event is one I loved in game very much, and I thought it would be fun to play on the human sacrifice angle of the wickerman by including the hapless researcher in the scene.
> 
> In actuality, the real Wickerman was a wicker (woven sticks basically) statue used by ancient druids (priests of Celtic Paganism) as a burning sacrifice to the gods. Though wikipedia tells me that there is little evidence that any actual humans were burned alive in it, and that this is a myth likely perpetuated by the popular, 70s cult horror film, 'The Wickerman.' starring a personal hero of mine, Christopher Lee. Give it a watch! And for God's sake don't watch that abortion of a remake starring Nicholas Cage!


	11. Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boggits, water, more boggits, I really thought the Blood Marsh would be a bit more... creative than this.
> 
> (Also, hooray! I broke 50k words! :D)

_“But there's a story behind everything. How a picture got on a wall. How a scar got on your face. Sometimes the stories are simple, and sometimes they are hard and heartbreaking. But behind all your stories is always your mother's story, because hers is where yours begin.”_  
― _For One More Day,_ Mitch Albom

 

 

A drawing.

Lines laid carefully from memory rather than reference. Paints made from berries and leftover tea, dried and ground finely, then mixed with water. He recalled doing so quite meticulously in order to make the paint smooth. The egg tempera paint his father had brought home from the capitol was running low, so he mixed it with other things to make it last. He couldn't waste an egg for the powder, he'd have to wait until his mother broke one, or needed only the yolk. A doe standing among the berry bushes, he painted this for his mother, because she had said they were her favorite. It was not perfect by any means, as most child drawings weren't, but to him it had looked exceptional, and indeed it was beyond the ability of many who were as young, and even those who were older. He was so proud of it that he had finally shown his mother who had been reorganizing the pantry at the time.

The setting sun cast its rays through the window, coloring the kitchen orange. It reminded him of the stained glass he so admired on the door of the metalworking shop down the road. The precise composition of that kitchen, the way the dust particles hung there in the light, the placement of the chairs and the table, even the rings left on the table's surface from the leaked condensation of mugs, were so crisp in his perfect memory, that indeed even now he could recall the very _smell_ of that room. Brick, soil, wood, and yeast stored in a pot for bread baking, and something else unique that he could not place. They all mixed together to create a distinct smell that said _home_.

He remembered so clearly her long black hair. So dark -just like his- but shiny like the head feathers of a grackle, and tied up in the back in the way his father had always said was so pretty. Some strands of it had fallen around her face and curled gently at the back of her neck. Sometimes when she was thinking, or listening to someone, she would twine free strands around her fingers absently. She had wiped her fingers on her worn apron carefully before she took the painting from him. “Jack, this is lovely! You're getting so good!” She had said, and he had been delighted she had liked it. He hadn't been sure if she would. She proclaimed that she would hang it up in her room, had embraced him and kissed his head, then led him outside so that they might watch the sun set together from the back steps.

“Jack, did I ever tell you about the time I saw a _white_ stag?” She asked after a time. Jack could even remember the rolling trill of the robin in the trees at that moment, singing it's bedtime song and the fresh smell of grass and fire colored harvest leaves in the open space behind their home.

“Really? Where did you see it mum?” He had asked her.

“It was a year before you were born. Your father had gone on a three day trip into the forest, so I was alone at the time.” She began. She too, spoke to her son as if he were equal in intelligence with her. And sometimes he reflected that he may have understood more than most children would have at that age. Perhaps his parents had noticed this? He would never know now.

“Was it _scary_?” Jack asked her, he had been left home alone once when his parents had taken their horse to the animal healer late one night because it had cut its leg on a piece of discarded metal. His father had asked him to look after the house. He hadn't much liked the experience.

“Oh _no_ , it was alright.” She said with a laugh. “There was not much to fear, even now the bears in the woods rarely visit us. But I had gone into the forest by myself to get some more cranberries to bake something for when your father came home the following day.” His mother continued.

“It was a bit of a 'spur of the moment' decision, I had been feeling cooped up at home since it was my first Harvest away from Westmarch. I was eager to do a bit more exploring, and I already knew the cranberry bog trail quite well, so I thought I would be safe enough on my own.” Jack rested his head on his mother's arm and listened as she spoke.

“I followed the path into the bog in the evening and there was a heavy mist that hovered just a few inches above the ground.” She continued. “The tree frogs were so loud then... and I could hear the boggits calling their children to come home.”

“Did you see one?” Jack had asked her with wide eyed curiosity, he'd been to the bog several times with his mum and dad and had yet to see a boggit. He had so far only heard them from a distance.

“Not that time, but I had seen them before.” She had answered him. “I had almost filled the basket when I suddenly felt like I was being watched, and the air had gone still around me. I couldn't hear the frogs anymore and even the birds had stopped singing.” Jack held her hand and waited with bated breath to hear what had happened next.

“Then I looked up and _saw_ him. A great white stag, _staring_ at me. His eyes were so dark, and around his antlers blinked many fireflies. We must have stared at each other for over a minute at least, maybe more. Then he walked away, he didn't run like most deer. He just walked away into the fog that seemed to part before him as he moved.” His mother said to him, staring out into the forest that had begun to darken as the sun set.

“The footprints he left behind in the moss shimmered silver in the fading light, and I knew then that he was not of this world.” She finished, and Jack blinked at her, wondering _what_ he might have been and from where, if not from the forest like the other deer.

“Then where was he from, if not here?” Jack asked her curiously.

“Some people think they, and other white animals are messengers from the Otherworld, or more popularly, servants of Akarat.” She explained to him. The house cat nosed its way out the door and rubbed against her other arm as it descended the steps into the grass, sitting on the border of their yard and the forest behind, flicking the tip of her brown tail excitedly.

Jack had thought on this for a few moments, wondering what it meant. “What do you think he wanted to tell you mum?” Jack had asked her.

“I don't know. I've often wondered about it.” She replied thoughtfully, rubbing the top of his hand with her slightly calloused thumb. “Maybe he wanted to tell me that I would soon have a beautiful son who would paint me lovely pictures and keep me company while your da' was away and I'd never have another lonely Harvest again!” She said with a laugh. And Jack had started giggling, startling the cat who bolted into the woods.

Another memory he kept close to his heart, his mother's laughter at that moment, and not the awful way he had watched her die. The bogs back home had been clean and lush, the creatures there had been healthy and gentle. Even the boggits there were secretive and kept to themselves. It had taken him a week of near-constant waiting in the marsh to finally see his first one.

Now he was seeing far more than he ever thought he would and killing them to boot. It saddened him, but he knew they had been poisoned by disease and foul magic.

Another reason to despise Adria, as if he'd ever needed more.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Their footsteps landed heavily in the moss and they traveled about carefully, making sure to avoid those terrible, bubbling pools of poisoned water. Every so often, Jack dropped a grenade, trying to slow the beasts down or convince them to end their pursuit. They exploded behind them as careless boggits tripped them, casting orange firelight and booming reverberations. As they ran, Jack could hear the shimmering sound of arcane magic, thrown back from Eirena's hands, and Kormac, having no ranged attack skills, busied himself with keeping their young Horadrim from falling behind and getting killed. There was the familiar 'click and whoosh' release of heavy bolts from Lyndon's crossbow. Most of them hitting home with the shattered glass sound of freezing, then cracking ice.

Lyndon really had gotten quite good at enchanting. Jack was proud of him, but now was not the time to praise.

The screeching of those creatures was almost indescribable, he almost couldn't hear himself think, the sound of a thousand cats having their tails tread on, perhaps, or being roasted alive maybe. He tried to think about something else.

The hunter watched the hind paws of the wolf in front of him, carefully letting his feet fall where hers had, knowing the ground would be stable. Ahead of them was more firelight, and Jack wondered if they perhaps _shouldn't_ be going this way after all. Firelight, so far, had meant hostility. But beyond the firelight was a blackness so complete that not even star or moonlight could penetrate. He could see very well in the dark, but the marsh could have been a thousand years wide in all directions for all he could tell, his far reaching vision could not see the end of it.

Quite suddenly, Jack realized that he should have followed his intuition and led them away from the lights into the darkness, because now they had come quite suddenly into the center of a boggit village of sorts. And the residents were _very_ angry.

“Oh _great_!” Lyndon puffed from behind him. “More... bloody... _boggits_!” He panted as they ran straight through what looked to be the center of their little village. Jack was running low on grenades and wanted to save at least a few to rupture Adria's rotten corpse after he had killed her. It was much easier for him to focus on _how_ he would slay her, rather then why he wanted to.

To think of the other was too painful and a distraction he could not afford at that moment.

There was a little wooden tower in front of him that was filled with enraged boggits, hurling spears down at them. Annoyed, and noticing the tower was only a foot or so taller than he was, and poorly built at that, Jack merely gave it a firm kick and watched it topple over with mild satisfaction. Lyndon pointed and laughed, endlessly amused by... _most_ things he saw. Jack wasn’t always sure why the man found something funny.

The satisfaction was short lived as he, the wolf and Lyndon were quite suddenly flung backwards through the air a good seven yards, hit the ground, then kept falling through the very ground itself into a dark pit of some kind. Lyndon landed on Jack's chest, winding him, while the wolf fell hard on her side, letting out a squealing whine.

“Owww... _please_ eat more. Falling on _you_ is like falling on a sack filled with sharp sticks. What in the Hells _was_ that?!” Lyndon moaned, rolling off him to struggle back to his feet. Jack lay there a moment, stunned, then sat up, coughing, wondering the exact same thing. “You're _welcome_ for breaking your fall.” Jack hissed, rubbing his ribs where the scoundrel's elbow had hit him.

“Ah yes, thanks for that.” Lyndon said smiling, them pulled him to his feet. “Alright?” The hunter nodded, then checked on the wolf who was already up. She was favoring her front right paw a bit, but after a careful inspection, he decided that it wasn't sprained or broken, likely just sore. Jack looked up at the ceiling, they had fallen from a height of at least twenty feet through the roof of a den of some kind, on top of being flung by... _something_. Climbing out was out of the question, even if Lyndon got on his shoulders. They'd have to find another way out. They were lucky they hadn't been hurt more seriously.

While he was looking up at where they had fallen, three familiar faces peered over the edge of the hole along with a shimmering purple light.

“Oi, Jack are you alright?” Kormac yelled from the edge of the hole.

“What about _me_?!” Lyndon shouted petulantly.

  
“We're fine, but we'll have to find another way out. Is it clear up there?” Jack called back, ignoring the scoundrel's whining. He was glad Lyndon seemed to have gotten his good spirits back, and it was relieving to see the return of the jests and the optimism, and even the complaining he welcomed. It loosened the vice on his heart, but it was only oneof the many things that tightened it.

“Ah, _more_ or less. Give us time.” Kormac answered with a feral grin, then they disappeared from the edge. “See you soon.” Jack answered, then moved deeper into the tunnel, the scoundrel following him closely. There was the sounds of combat from above them and a familiar voice shouted, “To a watery grave you go beasts!” followed by panicked shrieking.

It looked a bit like how he imagined the inside of a beaver den might, with walls constructed of mud and sticks, smashed together and weeping moisture from the wetness of a bog, and even the very ground they tread upon squished under their feet, paved with sticks and dirt as it was. He wondered how they prevented it from flooding, but it was only a fleeting thought, born of his curiosity for how things worked, and for the creatures that lived in their world. The only difference between this 'boggit house' and a beaver den, he likened (other than the residents of beaver dens being much more benign creatures) were the many strange, shiny trinkets hung about to catch glimmers of torchlight. They indicated that the beasts that lived here were at least slightly smarter then beavers, enough to craft their own tools and ornaments. They did not make any beautiful things that he could see, but appeared to be rather adept at weaving baskets from long strips of marsh grass. He figured that boggits were at about the same level of intelligence as the fallen, but they should not have been nearly as aggressive.

Again, he was angry. Once peaceful creatures had been twisted by a repulsive magic from a wretched Demon Lord's whore. _Leah_. He thought of her again, and Adria's unforgivable sacrifice of that young, beautiful, and intelligent girl. She had so much promise for a happy future, had her wholelifeahead of her, something he could not have claimed at her age. He wanted to protect good people like her, but he had failed, and he hated Adria for causing that failure with every inch of his heart. At times his hate of her wore away at him like a dissolving acid, and indeed it felt as if his very sanity was dependent on killing her. Lyndon was one of a few sources of comfort, and the temptation to indulge himself with him was very strong, but it was selfish, _foolish._ He needed to focus on the task at hand. But the thought didn't stop his body from begging for another taste.

He'd been much too spoiled lately.

“It smells down here, are you sure you know where you're going?” Lyndon asked. Jack sighed, speaking of _spoiled_...

“The wolf can smell fresh air. She'll lead us out” Jack said to him. There were a few torches, but once they moved away from where they had fallen, the tunnel became pitch black. “Ah, _fresh_ air! I wish there was some of it here...” He whined. Lyndon tripped over baskets or discarded spears more than once, or simply stumbled over uneven ground, grumbling and cursing furiously, all the while. “Those stupid ferrets keep moving in my bag and I can’t bloody _see_.” The thief grit out, frustrated. Jack forgot sometimes that other people could not see in the dark as well as he could and slowed his pace a little. The scoundrel eventually grabbed his arm at the elbow an held on firmly in an effort to keep himself from falling. He wished he had brought the glowing skeletal dog after all instead of leaving it with Brycen, it would have made a halfway decent torch.

“I can hardly breathe down here, it's so _stuffy_. I bet there's a thousand bones and corpses and all manners of nastiness used to adhere these bloody sticks to the walls. Filthy things.” The thief muttered.

And he _really_ wished Lyndon wouldn't complain when he wanted attention. It grated on him.

“They use mud, not _corpses_. An the ferrets like shiny things, if you hoarded less treasure in your bags then they would likely be less interested in nesting in them.” Jack offered patiently, trying to distract himself from warm fingers curled around his bicep and to keep himself from losing his temper at the man.

“Well, I wish you'd told me that _months_ ago! But where would I keep all my things if not my bags?” Lyndon answered, annoyed.

“ _Your_ things?” Jack asked with an airy sarcasm.

“Well, mine _now_ anyway. Oh and by the way, if any of the guards ask you my name... _you don't know it_.” Lyndon added seriously.

Jack sighed. “What did you do?”

“Oh... just my _usual_ activities.” The thief answered, giving his arm a squeeze.

“I can see how that could cause problems.” Jack muttered, wondering this would be something he would have to deal with upon returning to the enclave.

“Ah, often _yes_ , but don't _worry_ about it.” Lyndon reassured him quickly with a pat on the arm.

They moved carefully as the passage twisted and turned ahead of them. He wondered if perhaps they were just going deeper instead of out and away, but he trusted the wolf to smell the way out. Eventually it was so dark, that even the wolf seemed to move more carefully. Jack found that even still, he could see alright. He wondered if this was something to be concerned over.

“Your eyes are so _bright_.” Lyndon said to him quietly, marveling. “They're the only thing I can bloody see.”

Jack didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing.

They turned a corner and there was light again at the end of the dark passage. It looked to be a more open space of some kind ahead. The wolf moved forward, picking up speed a little and he called a quick, short “Hey.” To keep her from charging too far ahead. She stopped and waited for them, then continued on beside them so they walked three abreast in the narrow tunnel. The light grew brighter and they came into a small, but spacious room that sparkled in every corner.

“Gods, _finally_!” Lyndon said happily, likely thinking it was all treasure of some kind, but a closer inspection revealed it to be only piles of metal and worthless trinkets. The thief sighed, deeply disappointed. “Well... there must be _something_ good in here...” He continued hopefully, digging through a pile like an excited magpie, then wiped his hands on his coat with a grimace.

“Eugh, I bloody _hate_ animals.” He whined.

Jack sighed, his tolerance fraying. “ _Please_ don't complain anymore. It's irritating.” 

Lyndon seemed to deflate a bit at his words, and even appeared slightly hurt. “Sorry...” He mumbled and went quiet. Jack had only wanted him to pick his battles with what he chose to complain about. He hadn't meant to _upset_ him. Lyndon had barely begun recovering from a heavy blow to his heart and Jack knew that the scoundrel often acted out when he was trying not to stew inside himself. Unsure of how to apologize, the hunter instead stayed quiet, feeling rotten.

He spotted something then, atop a pile of junk, something that even Lyndon'streasure hungry gaze hadn't noticed. Jack moved closer and plucked it off the top. It looked like a key of some kind, but it had many more intricately cut teeth then any key he had ever seen. The handle appeared to be ivory, and the business end of the key looked like polished silver. The looped base was detailed, woven knots of metal with a tiny red gem set at the base. Only a skilled craftsman could have made something so beautiful, it shimmered slightly in the firelight. This was likely the reason why the boggits took it.

Thinking it wouldn't likely be missed among all the other glinting pieces of scrap, he pocketed it. Perhaps... Perhaps Lyndon would _like_ it. He looked back at the thief who was petting the wolf's head and sulking. Before Jack could speak to him, he heard pitiful squeaking, and noticed a pile of spiny balls wobbling around in what looked to be a metal and grass crafted nest. It was made soft by stolen cloth and bird feathers. The creatures inside were boggit pups. This was the room where they kept all their precious things. The little things wailed so pitifully, crying for their parents to come for them, and Jack felt a heavy wave of guilt. He wasn't in the business of killing beasts, demons were his rightful prey.

Lyndon came over to investigate, “Should we... should we _kill_ them?” He asked hesitantly, watching the little spiny balls huddle and cry in their fear of them.

“No. We should go.” Jack said, and offered the thief his elbow again, which Lyndon grasped and held onto gratefully as they went back into the dark.

It didn't take them long to find more angry residents, but instead of killing them, the Demon Hunter dropped traps to slow them down while he dragged Lyndon along behind him, following the wolf through the tunnels.

Eventually, their path lead upwards in a steady climb and they seemed to have lost the creatures in the twists and turns of their own sticklined halls. Jack searched his pocket for the key and waited until it was light enough to see before he pushed it into the thief's hand.

“Take this.” Jack said awkwardly unsure of how to give him something that was just a gift, rather than something like an enchanted ring or amulet. Something that wasn't quite practical.

Lyndon merely blinked at it, “A gift for me?” He asked, childish excitement coloring his words already. Jack could only nod. Then Lyndon looked closely at it and gasped. “Do you know what this is?! _How_ did you find one?!” He asked him breathlessly.

“It's a... key?” Jack asked curiously, unsure of what the big deal was.

“Not just _any_ key.” The thief said. “A skeleton key. I'd always wanted- I'd looked for so _long_...” And then he looked sad again and Jack wondered if he'd made a mistake in giving it to him.

“It's said that a skeleton key can open almost any lock in the world, even one sealed by magic, which is something I can't just pick open. I always thought... that if I could find a skeleton key and send it to Edlin... that he could just get out of prison and... we could escape together.” Lyndon said sadly.

And Jack regretted it a bit more, “I found it... in the scrap room back there... I'm sorry.. I didn’t mean to... _upset_ you.” The hunter stammered.

“No, it doesn't matter now. I _like_ it.. thank you.” Lyndon said quietly with a sad smile, then carefully brushed his face against the hunter's neck affectionately, causing Jack to flush a bit, before pulling back.

“Besides, think of mow much easier it'll be to open doors now! No picking necessary!” Lyndon said brightly, grinning at him like a fool. Now Jack _definitely_ regretted it.

“That's not what it's for!” Jack snapped.

“Oh? Then what shall I used it for? Good and _honorable_ things?” The scoundrel asked wryly. “I suppose I won't mention that you basically stole it from those little things back there. Stealing candy from a baby, Jacky? I've never been so proud of you.”

The Demon Hunter scoffed, and stalked away from him, annoyed and embarrassed.

“Ohhh, don't _sulk_. I was only teasing. I really do like it, and I promise not to do anything bad. _Mostly_.” Lyndon scolded, grabbing his arm again, as he kept walking out.

“I'm sorry I... snapped at you. Before. I'm just... tired.” Jack ground out a little anxiously. He didn’t know why he felt the need to apologize after all, the gift had been enough, but still it had bothered him.

“I know.” Lyndon answered quietly. “You're _always_ tired.”

Jack only nodded. The scoundrel was right wasn't he? He couldn't remember what it felt like to sleep well. The last time he had gotten decent sleep had been... well it had been at Holbrook hadn't it? As _everything_ had been there, where everything had changed for the both of them.

“How's this? When Adria's dead you and I can take a nice nap after, then we'll go put one between Malthael's eyes eh? Or at least... between where his eyes _should_ be.” Lyndon offered gently.

“Alright.” He agreed, and Lyndon looked happy, which made him feel better.

Something good to look forward to.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Covetous Shen next chapter I promise.
> 
> A note on the white stag: In Celtic mythology, the white stag would appear when one was trespassing in places they ought not to have been, such as the hunting grounds of the gods. More often they are seen as messengers, and in Arthurian legend are said to be impossible to catch and represent mankind's hunt of spirituality.
> 
> "The White Stag has a message for you. Hunters of old pursued the miraculous stag, not because they expected to kill it, but because it led them in the joy of the chase to new and fresh adventures, and so to capture happiness. You may look on the White Stag as the true spirit of Scouting, springing forward and upward, ever leading you onward to leap over difficulties, to face new adventures in your active pursuit of the higher aims of Scouting."  
> —Baden-Powell's (founder of the scouting movement) farewell speech to the Scouts in the 1933 World Jamboree in Godollo, Hungary


	12. Blood and Water: Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The correct entrance of Corvus is found with the aid of a special messenger and our heroes enter the lair of the witch. Also, a visit from a certain jeweler...
> 
>  
> 
> Happy 2nd Anniversary Diablo III! Enjoy that community buff!

_“Fool that I am," said he, "that I did not tear out my heart the day I resolved to revenge myself.”_  
― Alexandre Dumas, _The Count of Monte Cristo_

 

When they finally emerged into the chilly air from that seemingly endless, humid, boggit den, they could see the small purple light of Eirena's staff not too far away in the distance and, Jack squinted a bit, he could make out the second guidestone.

“Oh, _convenient!_ ” Lyndon chirped happily as he spotted the light as well. “And at least we're out of that stupid _hole_.”

Indeed. The Demon Hunter adjusted the quiver at his belt and checked on his supply of arrows, as he often did, then he remembered he had been meaning to give the thief something else.

“Lyndon, I almost forgot. Here.” He said, pulling out some enchanted arrows and handing them to the scoundrel. Arrows imbued with his own brand of demonic magic.

“You really weren't joking were you?” Lyndon said quietly and Jack shook his head. The scoundrel took the arrows from the hunter's hand and inspected them curiously. Shadows woke at his touch and wisps of red and black curled toward the thief's fingers, trying to twine like creeping vines, but did little else. A good sign. Perhaps he _had_ been right, despite what Lyndon had said.

“Hmm, a trial run then?” Lyndon asked with an impish smile. Jack nodded, “Something like that. Please let me know right away if anything seems... _off_.” the Demon Hunter urged him.

“Fine. Don't worry your pretty head.” Lyndon agreed, and Jack wondered if maybe he should have waited until all this was over, because lately, he could barely trust _himself_ with demonic energies, let alone someone else. But...

He trusted Lyndon. Trusted him more than _anyone_ , even his mentor. It almost felt as though he were only fully realizing it now. It was both frightening and relieving. He trusted the man with his life, among other things. And that had to count for something didn't it? He could only imagine what kind of wretched state he might be in if Lyndon were not here. Enraged, _unfocused_. The thief was often a bad distraction, yes, but sometimes it was just what he needed to keep himself _sane_. And Jack would be just as tired whether the thief was here with him or not, but at least he could _see_ him and know that he was alright, and that he wasn't dead and ripped apart and desecrated in a terrible ritualistic eruption of _blood_ and _fire_ -

He was thinking of Leah again.

Soon, Adria. _Soon_.

They caught up with the group, only Lorath seemed surprised to see them. Jack ignored him as politely as he could and inspected the stone. “Everything alright?” Jack asked while he looked at the monolith, then touched it carefully, same as before. And, just as before, it hummed to life at his touch and shot a beam of shimmering blue into the sky and lit up the moss covered stones at their feet.

“Right as rain. The little beasts gave up quickly when they felt the sting of Eirena's magic.” Kormac boasted proudly while Eirena giggled. Blue shone over the Templar's face, illuminating blood spatters and stray quills embedded in his armor. Jack briefly thought about the boggit pups and hoped that their parents weren't among the ones killed. Sometimes he felt he cared too much about things that weren't humans when he should have been focusing on people. He missed the warmth of the bat in his pocket, it felt like there was a cold spot there where there hadn't been before. Mostly he tried not to think about it.

Lyndon sighed dramatically and muttered, “I don't care. You _can't_ have one.” Jack didn't even ask how the thief knew what he was thinking about. Sometimes he just knew.

“Perhaps you can train it to fetch treasure for you.” Jack replied, examining the eliminated “leaf” symbol, representing the elements of ground, soil and rock and all that grew within it.

“Isn't that why _you're_ here?” Lyndon answered with a smile and a wink and leaned a little close to him, and for a moment Jack was afraid that the scoundrel would kiss him right there in front of everyone, but he didn't, and the fear gradually left. Lyndon seemed to sense his unease and frowned at him curiously. Giving him a look that seemed to ask, ' _what's wrong with you_?'

Jack didn't know. He wasn't even sure why the fear had come in the first place, but he couldn't think on it now.

Eirena, Kormac and Lorath were staring at them, likely wondering what the Hell they were even talking about. Lorath cleared his throat a little and spoke up, “Air and water left. The next guidestone isn't far.”

“Good. Let's go.” Jack said calmly, and they entered the darkness of the marsh once more.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

As they navigated the marsh path, the air had grown heavy with the oppressive, sweet-rot odor that indicated that there was something dead nearby that had been dead for some time. Lyndon only complained once, somehow applying self-restraint to not be an annoyance to everyone around him. Jack was grateful for the quiet, but still felt guilty for snapping at him. He assumed Lyndon was trying hard to avoid angering him. Jack wanted to avoid it as well, remembering how hurt the thief had looked when he had scolded him. Was his temper so uncontrollable that he had to rely on others to curb it for him?

The time he'd spent in the river, among other ( _warmwetgood_ ) things, had helped, but clearly it wasn't enough.

Though, perhaps Lyndon tried a bit _too_ hard. Jack had to pull him away from freshly formed pools of poisoned water more than once. The scoundrel had only mumbled a “Sorry...” each time with a weak, apologetic smile while Jack just shook his head. Lyndon seemed to be terribly distracted, though by what the Demon Hunter could not say for sure. But he could certainly guess. His brother perhaps, or... _other_ things.

The stench of aging carcass grew stronger and they came upon a great dead beast of some kind. It was large enough to be a packbeast but didn't quite resemble one. Jack didn't recognize it, and he knew most of the wildlife that lived in the western half of the world. Adria's corruption could have twisted any beast enough to be beyond recognition he reasoned.

“There is something not quite right about this corpse.” Eirena warned frowning.

“You mean _besides_ the unbearably awful smell?!” Lyndon blurted quickly. Well... The Demon Hunter could only expect the man to hold his tongue for so long.

Then the dead creature _moved_.

Jack remembered why he had disliked the deserts of Kehjistan so much. Aside from the oppressive heat, there had been too many creatures that lived in the underground caves that were _slimy_.

An enormous, horrible... oozing _thing,_ had sloughed its way from beneath that wet carcass and rotting detritus and looked at them with dull, black eyes set in a pinched, skull-like face. Around it's head hung matted locks of dry, weed like hair the color of dead oak leaves. It opened its mouth, revealing rows of yellow-black incisors and uttered a grinding croak like the rusted hinges of an old barn door. Then this new, nightmarish creature planted its strangely muscular arms in the wet soil firmly, and began to shake itself like a dog would to wick water away from its fur, but it was not water that fell from the back of the beast, but a pulsing swarm of enormous _maggots_.

Maggots, who's multi-layered mandibles flexed at them before unleashing pitched, hissing squeals like damp wood pushed into a fire.

Jack fired and killed one easily, then regretted it immediately as the vile thing exploded, sending a green pus-like slime in every direction. Lyndon, who had been standing next to him at the time, recoiled and screamed, “ _IT'S IN MY MOUTH!_ ” Directly into his ear.

Head pounding, ears ringing, Jack moved backwards, pulling Lyndon with him as more maggots were shaken from the back of the broodmother and poured squirming from a gash opened in the side of the dead beast, squealing to get to them and devour them. Kormac's yells were loud behind him as he speared the writhing things over and over again, Lorath joined him, doing as well as he could with his own spear. Eirena kept pace with him and Lyndon, flinging magic from her fingers, face steeled in fierce concentration.

The wolf tore at the maggots, closing her piercing yellow eyes as the soft fur around her face slicked with the foul liquid when she bit down hard, killing one, and then another. He owed her for this, perhaps he could gift her with some nice meat later. At the very least, she would likely appreciate a bath.

The scoundrel spat several times, looking utterly miserable, and then wiped his tongue on his sleeve. The sight of that tongue immediately made the hunter's fingertips go numb, and he quickly looked away ( _You're lovely like this. Do you know?_ ) from Lyndon, mortified at his physical reaction and how such a lewd thought could have come to him at a time like this. _Selfish_.

Lyndon seemed to get himself in order, then fired the first demonic enchanted arrow since Jack had given them to him, and the Demon Hunter watched the loosed arrow come to life in the air.

It hummed like something alive, like his, but somehow different at the same time. Black trailed from the ends and it curved, a mind of its own, toward the mass of grey, shrunken flesh drawn over a warped ribcage that was the broodmother's torso. It struck hard and erupted, tearing a dark, flaming hole into the side of the beast, and viscous, ochre fluid poured from the wound while the creature howled in enraged agony.

“ _Did you see that hit?!_ ” Lyndon shouted at him happily, eyes bright, and Jack smiled slightly back at him. It was impressive to be sure. The hunter hadn't expected the arrows to work much for the thief, but they did, _amazingly_ , and he was pleased.

_Focus now. Focus._

Jack moved back, firing more of his own arrows, then felt something out of place at his feet. He saw a massive, fork like shape, constructed of tied together sticks and half buried in the moss and leaves. The hunter immediately recognized it as a trap. Likely the very same kind that had so forcefully flung himself, Lyndon and the wolf some yards and through the ceiling of a boggit dwelling.

He had an idea.

Jack stood on the edge of the trap, positioning himself carefully, then he shifted his weight, triggering the trap to release. It launched him forward at the broodmother and he landed heavily on it's back. Growling, he plunged his curved blade deep into the back of the thing's mushy skull, killing it immediately.

“Always thinking outside the _box_ , Jack is.” Lyndon remarked cheerfully to Lorath who was staring at The Demon Hunter as if he were insane. Or as if he were in awe. Ridiculous. Perhaps it _had_ been a bit mad, but whatever worked was usually fine with him.

“Where to now?” Jack asked him evenly. The Horadrim sputtered, hastily pulling his map back out and flushing a little. “R-right! Uhm...” He seemed to recover himself as he examined the map. “The last guidestone should be right down this path.” Lorath walked on ahead and everyone followed him, Eirena in front helping Lorath see with her conjured light.

“That was the _worst_... the _worst_ substance that has ever been in my mouth.” Lyndon complained hotly as he trotted up beside the Demon Hunter. Jack wiped at the wolf's muzzle with a strip of cloth as she squirmed a little, flicking her tongue out over and over distastefully. Perhaps she agreed with Lyndon.

The Demon Hunter snorted. “Really? I would've expected more.” He hadn't quite realized what he'd said until he'd already _said_ it, and felt his cheeks burn a little, upset at his own carelessness. Lyndon just smiled at him knowingly, _wickedly_ , making it even worse.

The thief laughed instead of teasing him. “Normally you'd be _quite_ right. I'll tell you sometime if you like. But that... was really my top.” Lyndon said, chuckling. “Thought I would _vomit_.” He added with a grimace.

“Indeed.” Eirena cut in, seemingly oblivious to the implications of the Demon Hunter's words (for once he was grateful for her inattention to such things). “I don't think these stains will ever come out, what vile creatures.” She said sadly, rubbing at the messed purple fabric of her skirt with a frown.

“I bet a little _elbow grease_ will take that stain right out.” Kormac remarked to the enchantress confidently, and she smiled at him. Lyndon made a false gagging sound and Kormac punched him hard in the back, causing a hollow sounding thump, and made the thief stagger, nearly falling on his face.

“That _hurt_ you bloody stupid bastard!” The thief scowled at him, rubbing at his spine.

“Then stop being childish!” Kormac bellowed. And Lyndon glared back at him venomously and opened his mouth, likely to say something truly cutting, but Jack interrupted.

“Enough.” He snapped, in no mood for any silly arguments. They all went silent, scowling at the ground.

How quickly moods changed, couldn't they keep themselves in check for more than a few minutes at a time and not fight like angry raccoons? Though the Demon Hunter was one to talk, barely able to keep himself on task without becoming distracted by thoughts of the scoundrel, or far worse, _blacker_ thoughts of Adria and Leah.

Considering just what exactly ran through his mind when he thought of Adria... thinking of the thief was preferable, selfish as it was.

At the very least it was far less _insane_. Most of the time.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

When they reached the last guidestone, it was in several pieces. Lorath just looked back at them, expression vaguely helpless.

“Is- is it... _broken_?” Lyndon asked with some hesitation, frowning at the etched stones on the ground.

Lorath swallowed thickly, “I-” Then trailed off, at a loss.

“Perhaps it might still work?” Kormac suggested while Jack and Eirena examined it cautiously. It seemed to thrum with residual Nephalem energy... and something _else_ , but when the Demon Hunter touched it, the light came, but fluttered and died without revealing anything at all.

Jack stared at it and fought back a strong urge to just _smash_ the guidestone more than it already had been.

_Damn it all._

“It- It wasn't broken the last time I was here... _someone_ -” Lorath floundered, checking and double checking his map anxiously.

“There are traces of blood magic on the stone. _Very_ powerful.” Eirena cautioned.

“ _Adria_.” Jack growled, muscles taut with rage.

“Well... what do we do _now_ then?” Lyndon asked anxiously.

“There are only two possible entrances it could be, air or water.” Lorath offered.

“We do not have the luxury of time.” Jack snapped angrily. “Every second, more people die.”

And Gods, how had he been so distracted as to forget _that_ ? Every moment they tarried, more people in the world were slaughtered like sheep and went to Malthael, making him stronger. He hated himself for letting selfish thoughts distract him from the task at hand. And how many people had died while he had lazed about and done _nothing_? Enraged, he snarled and struck out, kicking what was left of the pillar. There was a satisfying shock of pain up his leg but he ignored it. The stone shattered to pieces and Jack just stared at it, positively seething. The wolf whined slightly in her throat and hit her tail against Lyndon's legs but otherwise stayed quiet.

Lyndon subtly gripped his forearm and gently squeezed in an attempt to calm him, but it didn't help. The only way to find the witch now was to guess which entrance was correct and pray they got it right, or hours and lives would be wasted. Jack was not in the habit of praying and was unused to things going the way he wished them too. Likely it would take them the rest of the night and into tomorrow to find the right way. If they ever did. What were a few thousand more bodies heaped upon _foundations_?

Adria might even be gone by then, and he would lose his chance to kill her. His mood went utterly black as he resigned himself to cruel fate.

They sat down on the soft moss among the wreck of the guidestone in a parody of a campfire circle. Eirena's staff of light was planted in the ground between them to gently illuminate their surroundings. They rested there for a little while while Lorath and Eirena painstakingly went over the ancient map, comparing it to the pages of an equally ancient book. The Demon Hunter's talents (and patience) did not lie with decoding cyphers of magical origin, so he sat with Lyndon and Kormac, and let Eirena and Lorath have a few minutes of time to try to find yet _another_ way inside, or some key that would reveal the correct path to them.

Kormac and Lyndon cast each other more than a few sour looks, but thankfully said nothing. Jack was not in the mood for any more petty, childish behavior. He was not in the mood for most things at the moment, other then putting a black arrow through Adria's black heart and watching her bleed out into the ground as life left her cursed body. His companions no doubt sensed his obvious displeasure and did not speak to him. His legs ached, and eventually he realized it wasn't pain he felt, but rather relief from standing for so long. Sitting was always risky.

Lyndon dug through his bag hastily and pulled the ferrets out, one in each hand, with an expression of deliberate indifference, then placed them in the hunter's lap where they rolled and squirmed happily. Even though Lyndon claimed to hate animals, and especially complained about his ferrets, he was always careful and gentle when he handled them. Jack dug around in his pockets and gave them cured meat to eat, they tended to hunt on their own at their leisure, catching mice in the food store rooms, or whatever environment they found themselves in, but sometimes he gave them extra to make sure they were not going hungry. One took the food in its mouth and crawled up into his hood that he had thrown back over his shoulders, laying in it like a hammock. The other forced its little head under his fingers. He couldn't feel the fur through his gloves, but the warmth was there, and for a moment he felt the slightest bit better.

But only for a moment.

“I'm feeling rather peckish myself, a little something to eat then, _hmmm_?” Lyndon offered amiably, and Kormac perked up a little. Jack's stomach turned at the thought. The thief dug through his bag some more and came up with apples, a mix of cortlands and whatever variety grew in Westmarch's farm community, along with biscuits, dried meat and cheese.

“You carried all _that_ with you?” Kormac asked curiously, accepting his share of the offered food eagerly. “If I hadn't there would be any _left_ when we came back because that old, piggish git _Shen_ would have eaten it all.” Lyndon replied irritably and Kormac nodded in mutual agreement. Eirena and Lorath took food with thanks, and ate distractedly as they read and debated. Jack tried not to listen to their talk, the lack of direction was utterly maddening.

“You know Jack, I wish you could try some of Westmarch's “fine” cuisine, then you'd see why Malthael _had_ to destroy it.” Lyndon remarked to him offhandedly as he made himself a makeshift sandwich. Jack breathed a sigh and didn't reply.

“But... I _like_ the food here.” Kormac argued, slightly offended.

“There, you see? My point precisely.” Lyndon answered haughtily, and Kormac scowled.

Mouth full of biscuit, meat and cheese, the scoundrel searched the tunic under his coat for a patch of fabric free of splattered mud, marshwater or vile creature remains, then rolled the apple there, polishing it with a ritualistic precision. Jack watched as he finished, then dug around in his pockets, removing a small, sharp looking dagger that had the customary elegant curve of metal from the base of the blade that arched over the handle to protect the wielder's hand. The hallmark of a Kingsport blade. Though the style was not as ornate as others Jack had seen, and as was the case with most of Lyndon's personal possessions, the quality of this particular blade was exceptionally good. Lyndon tended to keep only the best for himself.

Jack had not seen the _other_ quality Kingsport blade that had caused so much strife and heartache since he had lost control of his temper (and other more worrisome things) and thrown it into a pile of crates. He likened that Haedrig was still in possession of it but didn't know for certain. Lyndon removed the apple's peel with the edge of the dagger expertly, the entire peel spiraling off from the fruit in a single piece. Jack wondered why he had bothered to polish it in the first place if he was only going to peel it after. The scoundrel looked up and smiled, offering him the apple.

The Demon Hunter shook his head, the thought of eating while people died was abhorrent. 

“Do you even _remember_ when you last ate something?” Lyndon asked. Jack remembered he had eaten a day ago, but couldn't remember what it had been, he only blinked at the scoundrel, unable to comment. Lyndon sighed. “How's this then, we'll split it.” The thief offered, annoyed. “How are you going to cut Adria's head off if you're _starving_?”

Lyndon had a point, but he'd done more with less in him, but he decided not to bring that up, and he was already wasting people's lives while they sat here wasting _time_ , he might as well eat too. He accepted the apple, (avoiding Eirena's heavy, critical gaze) and took a bite while the ferrets fought over the peels, growing bored with them quickly because it was not meat. It wasn't as bad to eat as Jack thought it would be, but if he thought about the things he _really_ wanted to eat, all he could come up with up with was a strong cup of coffee and a bed to sleep in, and only one of those could tentatively be called food.

Results did not come from wishful thinking. He would sleep when this was over, or when he was dead. Whichever came first. Jack ate his half, then moved to hand it back to Lyndon who shook his head and, unwilling to waste it, the hunter ate the rest. Lyndon grinned at him while he did so, as if it had been his plan from the very beginning. _Wretched man._

They had rested for at least half an hour already, and seemed no closer to finding a clue to lead them. Jack was starting to grow restless. He'd give Eirena and Lorath a bit longer, but if they did not think of an answer he would choose an entrance at random and go from there. Distractedly, Jack watched Lyndon alternate between twirling the skeleton key around his fingers as an outlet for fidgeting, and examining it with a critical eye. Lyndon had long fingers, attached to graceful hands. Any skill that involved finger dexterity seemed to come easily to him: pick pocketing, juggling and card tricks to name a few. It was strange that he could do things with his hands that required concentration and control, but had little patience for other things and was often clumsy and careless. Jack had saved him from falling into something that would have surely killed him more times then he was willing to remember.

The scoundrel was examining the key again, furrowing his brow a bit as he looked at it. Dark eyelashes moved when he blinked, and there was a steady rise and fall of his shoulders while he breathed. Lyndon pulled his bottom lip into his teeth a moment while he thought, then released it, then stroked his mustache thoughtfully. Jack merely stared at the scoundrel, realizing he'd never quite _looked_ before, having spent most of his time trying _not_ to look at him. Jack supposed that Lyndon was not classically handsome, but he didn't really have a good reference for such things. Either way, he _liked_ how he looked so he supposed it didn't really matter. Jack was mesmerized by the near constant movements. Could Lyndon never sit still? He watched him absently ran his fingers over his head a few times, slicking his dark, shiny hair back into place. A habit even the Demon Hunter had noticed.

The scoundrel looked over at him suddenly and Jack quickly looked away, realizing that he had been staring. Lyndon didn't say anything, but Jack could feel the heat of his gaze. Embarrassed, he pointedly didn't look back. He sighed softly and closed his eyes a moment to rest them, they felt dry and there was an ache forming behind them. They should really get going.

There was a change in the air then. A subtle shift of energies like the feeling before lightning struck and the Demon Hunter looked up, and what he saw made his heart nearly halt in his chest:

_A white stag._

No. No, a _doe_ , standing in the marsh some yards away, shimmering silver like a delicate apparition, fireflies twinkling around her head. The pelt of the doe was so real, so white and soft looking, and she blinked once at him, eyelashes brushing downward like the finest lace and it _reminded_ him of-

The word crawled up from deep within buried memories, and slipped from him before he could stop it, weak and barely audible:

“ _Mother_?”

The deer turned from him then and bounded away and he launched to his feet, setting off after it into the marsh at top speed. Someone called his name but he ignored it. Ignored _everything_ but that white creature from a dusty memory.

Jack followed the deer, just steps behind but never fast enough to catch her, noting the glowing, two-toed hoofprints left in the ground. He tried to call to it but his throat felt as though it had closed, barely able to suck the air necessary to sprint. The doe leapt through a sudden black doorway and vanished, like it had never been there at all. Jack stopped, panting, and stood there in front of that mouth of darkness, numb and panting.

It was gone.

The awful thought came upon him that perhaps he was just going mad. Perhaps he was so far gone now that he was imagining things that weren't even there at all. It was not unheard of, he had seen more than one fledgling Demon Hunter crumble beneath the burdens of living and just _snap_ like there had been nothing left within them to even recall any memories of happiness or sanity. Perhaps the images that terrorized him in his nightmares would haunt him in his waking hours now as well, perhaps even-

Footfalls behind him. “Why did you.... run _off_ like that?” Lyndon asked between gasps of air, wolf at his side. “Who knows what that... that white _deer_ could have been. Could have been a _trap_ or an... angry monster or something.” Lyndon breathed at him irritably, then bent over a little, puffing heavily and clutching at a stitch in his side.

Jack closed his eyes briefly under the comforting blanket of relief. He had not imagined it. He was not insane.

_Yet._

“Gods, you're all _pale_ , are you alright?” Lyndon asking him in concern when he had caught his breath. Jack did not answer. The others caught up to them as well, breathing heavily and splattered with water and mud.

“This is the right entrance.” Jack said to them hollowly, before they could speak.

“How do you know?” Lorath asked him.

“I know.” The hunter answered and slipped into the mouth of darkness beneath the symbol of water. As he had _always_ known it would be.

Blood and water.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

“I think the faces in the walls are staring at me.” Lyndon muttered, voice echoing slightly against the stone. “Probably because I'm so _handsome_.” He finished wistfully.

No one laughed, but Kormac did scowl at him. The thief supposed that was better than nothing.

The path into the ruins of Corvus was just as dark as the marsh, but infinitely more unnerving. Ancient visages, eyes black pits and mouths agape stared back at them, at _him_. And damn it all, it made him nervous! So instead of being frightened, he tried to jest about it. It was warmer inside than it was out, but there as a foul stench to the air and something else that was distinctly... _blood_ -like.

“Lorath? Who do you suppose these faces are supposed to be? A Nephalem king? A god?” Eirena asked.

“Well, I'm not precisely sure.” Lorath began. _Ha, no surprise there_ , Lyndon thought, useless sod. “Rakkis spent many years walking these halls, but never divined their secrets. It was likely because he had no Nephalem lineage himself that it was impossible for him to find them.” Lorath explained whilst looking at a different map from the marsh one. If he had all these stupid maps, why was it so bloody hard to find where they were _going_?

“I had no idea that _Rakkis_ had an interest in the Nephalem.” Kormac remarked, interested. Lyndon braced himself for a history lesson and tried not to sigh.

“Rakkis discovered a tome that wrote of the great Nephalem city of Corvus, a ruin even in his time. Part of his great crusade to the west was finding these ruins, perhaps he desired itt even more than spreading the Zakarum faith. I... well- _Tyrael_ and I believe that this is why Westmarch is settled where it is, because of its proximity to Corvus.” Lorath explained amiably, the information coming from him easily. Ah, perhaps this was why he was so useless in a fight, he was a glorified _scholar_. Maybe he and that annoying librarian in town could get together. But if Lyndon was being more thoughtful, he might say that the young man reminded him much of Deckard Cain.

“He found the light within the ruins, Just as Jack has, but never learned anything from it.” Lorath continued.

“Perhaps we will find something then, since we have a Nephalem with us.” Kormac said proudly.

“I hope so. Rakkis heard of the Worldstone in the barbarian lands to the north and attempted to conquer them many times in his desire for it. But he never succeeded. His final wish was to be buried here. His tomb was where we initially were to hide the Black Soulstone before...” The Horadrim trailed off.

“Many lives have been lost because of man's lust for power.” Jack said, typically grim as always when he shared his thoughts on a subject. “And the desire to force religion upon people who have no need of it.”

“Yes.” Lorath answered quietly. “I don't suppose he was a very good king, though many look upon him favorably.”

Lyndon wiped a dusty spiderweb off his coat and thought that even poor old Leoric was likely a better king, even if he _had_ gone a bit mad at the end. Really, he was just tired of kings in general. Too much power and entitlement at the fingertips of cruel, spoiled men. And people like him were of little more importance to kings like that then fodder for a stake burning, or a good hanging to entertain the _rabble_ and privileged nobles. _Or perhaps four hours in the stocks after a few lashes first_ , the thief thought bitterly. An example to the _rest_ of them. He wondered how 'leading by example' was working out for them.

“What became of the tome?” Kormac asked, ever interested in books.

“I have it.” Lorath said smiling, proudly and indicating his bag. “You may read it later if you like.” He offered.

“Aye, I'd like that. Though perhaps when Adria is a smear on the stone, eh Jack?” Kormac muttered viciously. Seriously, sometimes the _bloodlust_ in that silly Templar was almost as bad as the Demon Hunter's. Piety was _situational_ , Lyndon supposed.

“Yes. I- _We_ have waited much too long for this.” Jack answered, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

Lorath took a deep breath, then proceeded to say something incredibly stupid: “Jack, please remember that we must get the information from Adria first. I know that you cared for Leah, but we need answers more than we need revenge, she would _understand_ if-”

The Demon Hunter spun around, snarling, eyes flaming bright and got an inch from the poor bastard's face. “ _Do not_ presume _to know what she would or would not understand,_ Horadrim _, because you were not there and did not know her!”_ Jack hissed at him viciously, and all color left Lorath's face. Gods, Jack was _smoking_ wisps of angry shadow. The wolf mewled and whined, tugging on Jack's cloak with her teeth. The hunter's finger's twitched at his sides as if he wanted nothing more than the strangle the life from the younger man.

And indeed the longer Lyndon watched, the more it seemed he just _might_.

“Heyheyhey... _Stop_.” The scoundrel soothed, forcing himself in between them and placed a firm hand on the Demon Hunter's chest to hold him back, subtly moving his hand upwards in a singular petting motion, before ceasing. “Lorath meant no offense, isn't that right you daft bastard?” Lyndon grit out, a little angry at the _both_ of them.

“Yes, I-I'm _sorry_.” Lorath mumbled, stricken, clutching the map in his trembling fingers, holding it up in front of him as if it were shield. _Barely older than Eirena_ , Lyndon reminded himself quickly. _A_ _child_. Jack should know better than to lose his temper like that. Obviously he was doing more poorly then Lyndon first thought.

“I will do what is needed. In the mean time you will _hold your tongue._ ” Jack snapped, then, thankfully, backed down, though he continued to pace and seethe.

“Remind me to never get on your _bad_ side.” Lyndon called to him. Jack looked back at him, furious, but the rage quickly died on his face and he merely looked sad instead.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Lyndon had taken the Corvus map and shoved it into the Demon Hunter's hands, assuming Jack would be far less able to tolerate listening to Lorath's directions now. He seemed to be able to navigate alright. He hadn't said a word to anyone since he'd lost his temper. Kormac and Eirena were talking amongst themselves toward the back of the group, just out of earshot, so Lyndon was left with the terrified fledgling Horadrim and an upset wolf as company. Just what he'd _always_ wanted.

Sometimes the thief wished that Jack wasn't so adverse to affection, he likened that if he held his hand or something the man would calm right down. Touch like that seemed to comfort him. But alas, it wasn't an option at the moment. At least not without a good degree of subtlety.

As the Demon Hunter walked by an impression in the stone floor, something glowed blue and some kind of... _thing_ , shot up from the floor. Jack, startled, fired half of his bloody quiver into the thing before it was revealed to be a harmless, ancient armor rack, now slightly riddled with smoking arrows. Jack was panting and glanced back at them with a vaguely embarrassed expression.

Gods, jumping at nothing. Someone needs a _nap_. Jack's state was drifting back toward “utter wreck” levels again like back at Bastion''s Keep. And Lyndon was sure it had been 'mother' he had said when he'd seen that deer. He was _certain_ of it. But he knew better than to ask him about it _now_. He'd probably pop a vein and rip his head off or something.

“What is this?” Jack asked indicating the armor rack, though his question sounded more like a statement.

Lorath hesitated, probably afraid to speak to him. “Th-the uhm, Nephalem have many things like this that will react to your touch, some things are probably traps that you alone can trigger... if we come across any...” The words died in his throat as Jack stared at him, then the hunter nodded. Seemingly satisfied.

“Gods, how do you _talk_ to him?” Lorath whispered to the thief weakly. Lyndon smiled and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, “Wellll, I just pretend he's not angry at all, and that _usually_ works out alright.” The thief said, smiling disarmingly.

“Usually?” Lorath echoed cautiously.

“Usually.” Lyndon reiterated. “It also helps not to bring up things that might upset him. You probably... _shouldn't_ mention Leah again.” The thief advised. Lorath nodded, looking a bit lost.

“W-when Malthael came for the stone. In the ruins, I-I didn't know what to do. I didn't even _help_ , I just stood there.... and my friends... my comrades _died_. Tyrael told me to run... and I was so afraid that I did. I just ran and left them all there.” Lorath admitted. “I'd never felt so useless. I only wanted to help.”

Lyndon sighed, feeling a little bad. Gods, they were all turning him soft. “You're doing fine. We never would have found this terrible little pit of rocks and cobwebs without you. Where would we be if you hadn't run?” The thief said as kindly as he could manage. Hell, he hadn't had half as much courage at Lorath's age. He had no right to think that he was better than him, and Lyndon shouldn't let Lorath feel poorly about himself. There were enough people around who already felt like that.

And in all likeliness, he probably would have run at the sight of Malthael too.

“Thank you. Kormac said that you weren't very kind, but I think he was wrong.” Lorath said gratefully.

“ _Did_ _he_ now?” Oh, he would _get_ Kormac for this. That thick-skulled _bastard_.

They walked for some time through dark twisting passageways. Barely anything attacked them but strange, bug like things poured from holes in the walls on occasion. They were easily dealt with, mere pests really, but they were bloody disgusting. Why did every place they visited have to be so damned bloody _disgusting?_

Lyndon happened to glance at the wall and noticed moisture collecting there. The terrible thing was that the more he stared, the more he realized that the moisture was _running up the walls._ And as his eyes followed the gravity defying beads of liquid upwards, he saw cracks in the walls filled with _bones_.

“Uhm. What do you suppose happened to all the Nephalem who lived here?” Lyndon asked worriedly, his voice echoed a bit and he realized that he'd been talking much too loud.

“Do you see all of those bones?” Jack answered him irritably. The first thing he had said for a while.

“Riiight.” Lyndon answered dejectedly. Everywhere they went had either bugs or dead things. Usually both, and this place certainly had both. It didn't help that the odor of blood had only strengthened the deeper they went.

“I can sense Adria's magic within the stones themselves. She is still in Corvus.” Eirena said quietly, helping the Demon Hunter interpret the map.

Comforting. He couldn't _wait_ to see her.

Speaking of seeing... there was something up ahead. A pinprick of light that was slowly getting larger.

“What in the Hells is _that_?” He said, and the Demon Hunter was already aiming at it, both crossbows pointed and ready.

That point of light was yawning wider and wider until it had become huge and shimmering, and a very familiar shade of blue. A portal? With an even _more_ familiar, skinny, old jeweler stumbling out of it.

“Ahhh, there you are!” Shen said to Jack happily as he stepped out of the portal, while the hunter, and indeed the rest of them just stared at him with a look of utter disbelief.

“ _How_ did- What- _Shen_?! What the Hell are you _doing_ here?!” Jack sputtered at the jeweler, stunned. How did Shen even _find_ them down here when they'd spent all afternoon and half the night looking for those ridiculous, bloody guidestones just to find the correct version of filthy, crumbling ruins to crawl through into Corvus.

“You know I'd been waiting to speak to you back at camp, but for the life of me I couldn't find where you'd gone. And when I saw you again, you looked so terribly busy, so I had some _dinner_ first.” Shen explained... or... _sort_ of explained as he stretched his back and hobbled away from the site of the closing portal.

“Eheh, I'd decided I might as well just go by myself, but what luck! You're already here!” Shen said happily, oblivious as always to Jack's anger.

“What are you talking about?! And how did you find us?!” Jack snapped, frustrated.

“Zei's Jewel is here in Westmarch.” Shen said, a crooked toothed grin on his face.

Jack paused at that. Lyndon remembered that Jack had told him what Shen had revealed to him about that jewel and his search for it, and it wasn't much, but the thief knew at the very least that it was very _bad_.

The old jeweler looked at his surroundings excitedly, as if just now noticing where he was. Knowing Shen, that was not _unusual_. “Yes, yes this is the place!” He chirped. “The Jewel is here!” and then damn if that old sod didn't run away down a side hallway!

“Shen?! Where are you going? I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR GAMES!” The Demon Hunter shouted, furiously. “ _COME BACK_!”

He cast them all a frustrated glance and squeezed his eyes a moment, gritting his teeth. “Please wait here, I'll get him.” he said, then took off after the jeweler, the she-wolf close on his heels. Leaving them all... just _standing_ there.

“Well, this is just _great_.” Lyndon muttered, and took the opportunity to have a sit, assuming that this would take forever, as _anything_ involving that old, tricky jeweler usually did.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter this time, apologies for the delay. More from Shen and likely Adria next chapter.
> 
> I'm disappointed we never got to see anything involving the tomb of Rakkis within Corvus. I think he would have made an interesting side boss before Adria.


	13. Shadows That Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I used to love traveling, seeing the world.”  
> “But now it has fallen into shadow.”  
> “Yes, it's not like it was.”
> 
> Wow, over 400 hits! Thanks to everyone who's read so far and to everyone who has left comments! Seriously struggled with this, sorry for being so late to update. >_> Hopefully the next chapter will not take so long.
> 
> (Lots of game dialogue used for Shen's part)

_For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams  
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;  
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes  
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;  
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side  
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,  
In the sepulchre there by the sea,  
In her tomb by the sounding sea.” _  
― Edgar Allan Poe, _Annabel Lee_

 

He traversed hallways with walls of ornately carved stone, the art of ancient Nephalem people. Holes in the crumbling walls revealed an insulation of bones that dampened external sounds, and Jack's footfalls sounded unusually loud to his ears. The ancient hallways of his ancestors were nearly dead silent. Nothing moved in them anymore. There were no Nephalem here, save himself. The Demon Hunter honed in on the padding footfalls of the wolf and the light sound of her toenails clicking upon the stone floor. The ferrets, having left the comfort of his cloak, scurried snake-like along the wall edges, whiskers twitching madly.

“ _Shen?!_ ” He called again into the dark. Where had that man _gone_?! He didn't have the time or the patience to put up with the jeweler's antics. He was close to finding and killing Adria, and to him, that took precedence over _everything_.

For one as _old_ as Shen, he could certainly move fast. Jack had never been more furious with him. Dirgest's jewel was important, yes, but surely it could have waited until after the world was no longer imperiled... They simply could not afford to stall any longer than they'd already had. Everyone was depending on them, on _him_ , to get the job done.

He had not seen anymore of those grotesque scarab creatures, but he had jumped each time an armor rack had shot up from the floor, or when he accidentally triggered a doorway to open with his presence. He didn't often think about his Nephalem ancestry, he had been the last to accept that there was anything at all special about him, until he had seen his powers gradually forming and developing with his own eyes.

To think, he had thought for the longest time that it was _Leah_ who was the Nephalem, rather than himself, but the true origin of her power had been revealed to be far worse than anything they could have imagined.

But it didn't matter anymore. She was gone, and he was not.

His power had gone beyond simple magic use and enchantments for his weapons, gone beyond simple determination and discipline. He was changing _physically_ , and lately the transformation had been quickening. Much faster than he was able to adapt. His uncontrolled abilities and mental stability were a constant concern in the back of his mind.

 _Why him?_ He often contemplated this. It couldn't have been mere chance, there were hundreds of thousands of people in the world. Millions even, likely more than that. Or... at least there used to be. Was it not possible that he could be one of several Nephalem in the world and that they were living somewhere undiscovered?

Surely he was not completely alone?

He suddenly wished he had brought Lyndon along with him, rather than asking him to stay behind. But... if the Jewel was as dangerous as Shen said it was... perhaps it was for the best that Lyndon and his sticky fingers were kept as far away from it as possible.

“Shen!” Jack shouted again, his voice loud and bouncing off the crumbling walls. He blinked rapidly, there was a headache lingering behind his eyes and in the front of his forehead, pulsing rather insistently. He knew he was tired, he hadn't slept since after Urzael's defeat and he'd barely eaten at all. Well, he'd eaten an apple but-

“Eh, you're not, ah... _lost_ are you Jack? I suppose these tunnels _are_ a little dark...” Shen's cheerful voice reached him from somewhere ahead.

“Shen! Wait for me! We're going back right now, I don't have _time_ -” Jack growled angrily.

“Oh, oh, oh, don't get so upset! Here, perhaps a story will, uh, cheer you _up_. Did you know that there was once two moons? Liria is the one that is no more.” Shen began, his voice sounded so close, but Jack could not find him. The hunter growled in frustration.

“I think it's time I told you the story of Zei and his master: the god of desire, Dirgest.” Shen called back. It sounded like he was behind him now, and the hunter spun on his heel. A door to his right shot open at his touch and Jack quickly went deeper into the new corridor.

“You've never told the whole story of anything in your entire _life_!” Jack snapped, feeling foolish that he was yelling at a man he could not see.

“Weeellll, _no_. But Dirgest's Jewel has appeared again and the time for secrets is over. Oh! Take your next left!”

Jack did so, feeling more and more as if he were being led on a wild goose chase. How did the old jeweler know where to go? How had he even _found_ them in the first place? He tried not to think about all the time they had wasted when Shen could have just ported them here the entire time. At least they had saved a man's life who would otherwise be dead.

But how many thousands more had perished in that time?

“So you'll finally tell me if you're a _god_?!” The hunter shouted angrily.

Covetous Shen merely laughed and Jack grit his teeth, hearing his jaw creak slightly.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Bored, Lyndon carefully inspected one of the popped up armor stands that was a few yards down the hall. Listening to Lorath and Kormac prattle on about Rakkis _this_ and Nephalem _that,_ while Eirena commented on the architecture and wall carvings every five minutes, was almost enough to send him round the bend. Gods, he should have just followed _Jack_. Too late now _,_ he sighed.

The thief wrinkled his nose slightly. He kept smelling blood every once in a while and wondered what it was. Probably something _bad_ , so he decided to ignore it as best he could.

To save his sanity, he went exploring, looking to find something of value in this filthy, smelly place. He hesitantly pulled a worn sword off the rack, hoping that it wasn't cursed, or booby-trapped, or _possessed_ , or any of the other absurd things that made treasure more difficult to acquire. He sat down, back to the cold wall, to examine the blade, wiping the dust and cobwebs off of it as best he could without messing his coat too much. The hilt was white and fit comfortably in his hand, there were many designs carved into the white handle (ivory perhaps?) that matched the art he had seen carved into the hallway walls. The blade looked well forged, and he dragged his fingers along the wavy markings on the edge of the blade, barely visible through the thousand-year, caked on age.

It balanced well in his hand and seemed to still be flexible after all this time, though perhaps it could use some repair work. Maybe Haedrig could- _hmm_... He thought about Brycen, and how he had practically brought the boy to tears. Lyndon had been in quite a state at the time, _true_ , but he still didn't feel good about upsetting him. Being bullied as a child made him more sympathetic to others who were picked on. Something he and Leah had had in common. He'd spoken to her about it once, one of the few civil conversations he'd ever had with her. Lyndon bit his lip and tried not to think about her anymore.

Whether Brycen was bullied or not he didn't know, but the boy seemed to be quite sensitive. His family was dead after all. Lyndon no longer wanted to see _himself_ become a bully, he'd been bad long enough. He tried not to go too far beyond harmless teasing and pranks, not that it mattered much, few people seemed to like him no matter _what_ he did. Perhaps giving the lad this sword would be a fitting apology, and if he was still adamant about helping Haedrig, maybe it would be good practice in weapon care or whatnot for him. Lyndon grinned to himself, pleased at the cleverness of his gift. He'd always been rubbish at apologies, always finding it easier to give peace offerings in the form of presents.

Lyndon pulled the key out of his pocket again, turning it over in his fingers. Jack seemed to be in the same boat as him as far as apology habits went. At first the key had... upset him, it brought back memories of his failure, but Jack could not possibly have known. But he really _did_ like it and was aching for an opportunity to try it out on something locked. He couldn't remember the last time someone had given him something as just a gift, it had been years and years, and he felt a little warmer just looking at it.

But it wasn't quite enough.

He sighed, feeling depression trying to sink its claws into him again. Lyndon found that when Jack was not around to fuss over, he started to think more about his _own_ problems on top of the Demon Hunter's. He much preferred worrying over someone else to wallowing in his own self hatred, his thoughts tended to spiral downwards quickly when he was left to his own devices.

And it was _always_ about the same bloody thing.

What exactly had become of all the gold he had sent Rea? He had practically mailed her a fortune within a year, and _still_ got no response, until that thrice-damned note anyway. Did she spend the gold on nothing? Give it away for her hate of him? Or maybe she really _was_ innocent and was living unawares in a house she purchased, raising his brother's children, his niece and nephew as best she could, unaware of what had transpired in Westmarch. Perhaps _none_ of it had come to pass and they were all just dead anyway, slain by the servants of Malthael and turned into shimmering blue skeletons.

It gave him a stomach ache to think about it, so he tried his best not to. He couldn't do anything about it anyway. Not until this mess was over. Jack needed his help. But even still, his mind raced, stumbling over possibilities about what he could have done differently to save Edlin's life. Sometimes, he truly hated himself for everything he'd so horridly screwed up.

“Lyndon?” A familiar voice, their little _enchantress_ , interrupted his cycle of miserable thoughts, and he was wretchedly grateful for that.

“ _Yes,_ my dear?” Lyndon said to Eirena as amiably as he could manage. How was it she always spoke to him when he was feeling his _worst_?

“Do you think Jack is doing alright?” She asked quietly, and took a careful seat next to him.

“You saw him. I practically had to _con_ the daft sod into eating a bit of apple.” Lyndon answered quickly, scowling at the memory of how frustrating the man had been. “And then he practically tore Lorath's head off for just _mentioning_ Leah.”

Eirena nodded. “Lorath did not deserve that, he is only trying to help. I _worry_ , Jack seems... distracted. Kormac has noticed as well. What do you suppose is troubling him?” The enchantress continued.

“I'm surprised Kormac notices _anything_ through that thick helmet of his. And anyway, why are you asking _me_?” Lyndon muttered defensively.

Eirena gave him a _look_. “Who _else_ would I ask?” She said curtly, as though she were confused by his question.

Well, so much for _that_ then. Lyndon sighed. Seems the only one who didn't know about... their _thing_... was ol' Kormac. And really, Lyndon preferred it that way. He'd had enough lecturing from multiple people in the last few days to last him a lifetime. He wondered if he was about to get it from Eirena now too.

“How in the bleeding Hells is it that you know about _us_... but not about...” He trailed off, realizing that he shouldn't say if he didn't want the Templar to murder him. “Never _mind_.” He muttered with a frustrated wave of his hand.

She blinked at him expectantly, and he sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically, conceding.

“Adria, among other things. The world _dying_ , horrible monsters, not eating or sleeping enough, everyone depending on him to _fix up_ every little bloody mess. Abandoned kittens that don't have nice homes to go to. You know, the _usual_ things that trouble him.” Lyndon drawled with practiced disinterest, spinning the key over his fingers quickly. Eirena nodded, her cupid's bow lips pursing, then turning downward in a slight frown.

Jack really was quite skinny, Lyndon had been noticing it more ever since Myriam had teased him about it. Stupid bastard needed to eat more, he was going to make himself ill at this rate. Bloody, skinny _bird's_ legs... They were probably bendy. _Flexible_. They'd wrapped around his waist well enough, they'd likely go over his shoulders with ease... Oh, he couldn't _wait_ to-

He should probably think about something else...

The Demon Hunter was _worried_ about him? Ha. Lyndon was worried too, worried Jack had taken on too much. The scoundrel hadn't been worried the last time because _honestly_ he hadn't cared as much then as he did now. He had cared about not dying and the demons not winning, but at the time... it had been rather difficult to see Jack as a _person_ , terrible as it sounds. He had acted and treated himself as if he were some kind of whirring clockwork contraption that didn't need what normal people needed. It had been... a struggle to be his friend then, but Lyndon couldn't always spend his time talking to Haedrig, so he'd tried to be his friend anyway. Eventually, the Demon Hunter had warmed up to him, and things had been less lonely for Lyndon after that.

It had been a revelation after Diablo was defeated, when Jack was revealed to be a person who got tired and needed to eat like the rest of them. Even more-so now, he had shown he had a multitude of fears and concerns. And the stress of what he was being relied upon to do was slowly crushing him. He had his and Kormac and Eirena's help, _sure_ , but would it be enough?

Lyndon felt a constant swirling miasma of lust, affection and concern, and because he _cared_ it was harder to ignore when he could see the Demon Hunter crumbling in front of him. But at the same time, he wasn't quite sure what to do about it other than snog him into next week.

Everything was so much easier when he didn't give a rat's arse about him.

“Oh and of course a tremendously frightening power he can't fully control. Angelic and Demonic ancestry going all willy-nilly.” Lyndon explained, with extravagant waves of his hands. “That one's been bothering him a good _long_ while.” Lyndon added with the slightest tone of frustration.

“Yes... It's very troubling. He seems... concerned about _you_ as well.” Eirena offered gently, dainty hands pulling at her unfortunately stained skirt.

“He's concerned about every _one_ and every _thing_.” Lyndon said, dismissively, feeling guilty. Jack had enough to be thinking about, he didn't need to worry about a petty thief on top of everything else... That and Lyndon was beyond tired of suffering guilt and shame.

“And... are _you_ doing alright?” She asked, and she sounded so kind, so _caring_ at that moment, that it made his chest ache a little.

“Yes, yes... I'm alright.” He finally said, after swallowing thickly.

Eirena smiled sweetly at him, “I'm glad.” She said. She _sounded_ glad at least.

“And _you_?” Lyndon asked, hoping to direct the conversation away from himself.

“I am... alright as well.” Eirena answered hesitantly. Lyndon smiled at that, it was unlike Eirena to withhold truth.

“Good to know.” He said cheerfully, and she laughed.

“And how's old _Kormac_? Cheery enough to hit me at least, hm?” The scoundrel inquired.

“Yes, he is well.” Eirena answered warmly, Lyndon wondered if he should just tell her just how fond the Templar was of her. She was so _oblivious_ to it she probably wouldn't even believe him.

“I'm truly sorry about your brother Lyndon, Kormac is sorry too. You're... very strong... How have you hidden your grief so well?” The enchantress asked sadly.

He closed his eyes a moment before opening them again, looking down into the blackness of the hallway. Torchlight flickering over the art carved into the wall, casting it in heavy relief. No one was as sorry as he was. He would not think about his brother.

“Because I _have_ to.” He said eventually. “Don't worry your sweet self over little me. I'll be fine.” Lyndon finished, then offered her a toothy smile.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

“Oh it's so good to be showing you around again! We should do it again sometime hm? Perhaps one of the.. ehh... night markets hmmm?” Shen's voice reached him from down the hall again. Jack couldn't smell the blood stench anymore so he likened they were going further away of where he thought they really needed to be going.

To kill that betraying _witch_.

Jack sighed, he was resigned to helping the old jeweler now. There was apparently no way around it unless he wanted Shen to risk himself alone and his sense of responsibility would never allow such a thing.

“I doubt there are any night markets _left_. Less for every second we waste.” Jack answered him angrily.

“It saddens me to see such a grim outlook in one as young as you, perhaps the night markets will cheer you up?” Shen said, and it sounded like Shen's voice was just over his shoulder that time. The Demon Hunter whipped around quickly, expecting to see him there, but there was nothing, just darkness. Annoyed, Jack continued on, following the light of small blue torches that lit every couple of meters just ahead of him.

Were they lighting because of him? How many Nephalem before him had walked these halls? Why had they chosen to live here? Was it always a marsh? Jack thought that if he lived through this... he would apologize to Lorath for shouting at him first, then ask him some questions about the ancient Nephalem that had lived in Corvus and how they had died. Or perhaps Tyrael would know something as well?

“Now where was I? Ah, yes! I was telling you about Lyria wasn't I? Oh, she was so _beautiful_ that Dirgest was determined to make her his own.”Shen said wistfully.

“What does this have to do with _anything_?” The Demon Hunter spat impatiently. The air wasn't riddled with the sour tang of blood, but it was becoming more stale and humid. They were going deeper into the ruins.

“Eh? Uh.. what's that? Sorry, these hallways do echo a bit and I just couldn't understand you! Oh, take a right just there!” The jeweler said happily, and Jack curved around the corner and down the next empty hallway. It could have just been that his eyes were tired and playing tricks on him, but the hallways seemed to be getting slightly narrower every time he entered a new one, the air more oppressive.

He jumped and nearly fired at another armor rack that woke at his presence. He figured he would probably never get used to them popping up like that, it played havoc with his nerves.

“How do you even know where I- hm, never _mind_...” Jack muttered. The wolf ran, nose to the ground, perhaps trying to help him find Shen... but she seemed to be no closer to locating him than Jack was. Gods, he'd never met anyone so frustrating. Well... perhaps he could think of one _other_ person.

“What's that?” Shen called back. “Ah, anyways... Dirgest pursued her relentlessly, showering her with gifts and attention until she succumbed and agreed to become his wife.” Shen continued. “But Dirgest's jealousy was so great, that he hid her high in the heavens away from the eyes of men and gods.”

“Only a _fool_ would let his desires run that deep.” Jack commented.

Shen laughed as though the Demon Hunter was missing out on some great joke, which only served to irritate him even more.

“Hm, yes. That was Dirgest... Desire was his very nature.” Shen continued once he had stopped giggling. “And Zei was the greatest thief, and he wanted Liria. He waited patiently for a night when Liria's path hid her behind the silver moon. For when the sun set, Dirgest had to leave Liria's side, you see, for desire rules the night. He could only watch from below as she drifted across the ocean of stars. Then Zei climbed, silent as a whisper, into Liria's palace in the heavens.”

“Had he fallen in love with her?” Jack asked curiously, then berated himself, he wasn't supposed to be encouraging him! They needed to do this as quickly as possible.

“No, but stealing from Dirgest would make Zei a legend.” Shen explained. Jack frowned, it seemed cruel and absurd to him that someone would steal another man's wife, just for _recognition_.

...Had Lyndon ever done the same? For all his tales... he very likely could have done something similar. The Demon Hunter wished he hadn't thought of it at all.

“Liria was so lonely, and Zei was so alive and full of life. They shared one perfect night, and after, she emerged, _blushing_.” The jeweler continued. “Hm. We must be getting close to the jewel now. I'm certain it's here somewhere, I can almost _taste_ it!” The old man chirped excitedly.

“I wish you'd let me catch up with you. It's likely _dangerous_.” Jack called out, the ferrets seemed to tire of running around after him, so he scooped them up and put them in his cloak pockets. The wolf's tongue lolled out of her mouth as she panted from their extended run. He slowed a little to allow her to catch her breath.

“Oh you _worry_ too much Jack. Now where was I? Ahhhh, Dirgest raced to her side, but Zei was gone. The ruby around Liria's neck was the only sign that he had ever been there.”

“A thief and a braggart. Did Zei feel any remorse?” Jack snapped.

“No, not then. He felt pride.” Shen replied.

“ _That_ sounds like someone I know.” The Demon Hunter said without thinking. _Stupid. Careless._

“Oh? Who?” Shen asked him curiously, he could hear the smile in the jeweler's voice.

“Nothing.” Jack answered quickly, feeling foolish.

“Ah.” Shen said, then continued his story. “Dirgest was possessed by an all-consuming rage. As Zei had stolen what was most valuable to Dirgest, he would take from Zei all that he held dear.”

“Did Dirgest murder him?” Jack asked, against his will, he was becoming interested in the tale. He fervently hoped it had some kind of _point_. Perhaps he would finally learn something about Shen and the Jewel? Something that might help him kill Dirgest or whatever they might encounter all the faster so that he could return to his true task.

And finally quench his thirst for vengeance in Adria's spilled blood.

Jack had a sudden worrying thought. Were Lyndon, Eirena, Kormac and Lorath alright by themselves? What if they had run into trouble of some kind? The Demon Hunter had not sensed anything near where he had left them, perhaps it was nothing to worry about... but he did anyway, feeling more and more like he shouldn't be here with each passing moment.

“Dirgest took something much more dear than Zei's life: his joy. He killed everyone Zei had loved and held dear. Then he slew Liria. Her light went out from the heavens, the seas wept, and the waves of their tears crashed upon the shore.” Shen said, and his voice sounded very sad. The last time he had heard such sadness in the old man's tone had been when Leah-

He grit his teeth. _Soon_.

“In the end, Zei trapped Dirgest in the ruby Liria had worn. Zei kept the stone around his neck as a reminder. In time, though, the burden grew too great to bear, and he cast off the stone, his divinity: everything.” The jeweler continued sadly. “Where there once stood a young god, there was now just an old man.”

Of course.

“An old man. How _interesting_.” Jack answered evenly. He was a god then, he _had_ to be, that wretched liar, there was no other-

“Ahaha, so the story says- wuh- Ahhh!” Shen's voice was cut off in a yell of surprise, and Jack heard the sound of crumbling stone, and rocks falling heavily.

“ _SHEN_?!” He yelled, heart in his throat, and he saw that the hallway had fallen away ahead of him, and he could see a great hole in the floor. There was soft light coming up from beneath and Jack carefully braced himself against the wall, leaning over the edge of the hole slightly to see in.

And finally he had found the jeweler. Shen was blinking up at him, waving dust out of his face and coughing. He _looked_ unhurt. “Shen? Are you injured?” Jack asked him.

“Ehehe, it's just a little _fall_. Don't worry!” Shen called up to him happily.

Jack scowled down at him. It was too far of a jump, he'd have to find another way down somewhere to get to him.

“ _Wait_ there. I'll come find you.” The Demon Hunter advised sternly.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

As Lyndon wrapped the old sword in cloth and placed it safely inside his bag, his gaze fell upon the Templar's satchel. He subtly glanced back over his shoulder. Kormac and Lorath will still talking about some kind of war with the barbarians that Rakkis had failed at, something about the Worldstone... he stopped listening quickly. Eirena was writing in her journal, dipping a pretty feather quill into a container of ink she had brought with her. He absently noticed that the ink was a rich _expensive_ purple. Eirena probably had drawings of pretty _flowers_ and _stars_ in her diary too. He smiled and dug through Kormac's things, selecting a familiar item. Ahh, the _amulet_. Kormac'd likely notice if that was missing as opposed to the dagger he rarely used. Lyndon pocketed it, thoroughly amused. Now it was a waiting game.

He wrinkled his nose and frowned as he smelled blood again. Was it getting _stronger_?

“Gods, it _stinks_ down here, I keep smelling blood. There must be something gutted somewhere, it's disgusting.” He complained as he joined them in their little circle.

Kormac and Lorath didn't respond, they weren't even talking anymore, everyone had gone quiet and were staring down the dark hallway ahead of them, not the subtly torch lit, side corridor the Demon Hunter had gone down, but the empty, yawning blackness of the way ahead of them.

“Something moved.” Kormac muttered lowly, flexing his hands over his spear. The thief moved back to the wall and unshouldered his crossbow. Eirena joined him at the wall while Kormac and Lorath moved to the other side opposite them. The enchantress extinguished the torches with magic and the hall grew pitch black. There they waited in silence.

Lyndon did not like this one bit, but he assumed that because Jack was not there with them... if it was something very _bad_ , they would probably do better if they weren't seen, or at the very least got the jump on whatever it was. Eirena was so close to him that he could smell the pretty perfume he always associated with her, jasmine and...something _else,_ buthe did not enjoy it for long as the odor of old blood became suddenly overwhelming. It clogged his nostrils with stale sourness and curled thick at the back of his throat, so strong he could _taste_ it.

“Eirena... what _is_ it?” He whispered to her instead of swallowing that awful taste, wondering how long he could hold his breath for.

“An _abomination_.” Eirena whispered back. “Blood magic.”

“Oh _good_.” He answered her. He could hear the thing now, shambling out from the darkness.

For some reason, no matter how _many_ demons he'd killed, no matter how many decaying, dust laden crypts he'd plundered, and even after descending into Hell itself and standing atop the Silver Spire in Heaven. After everything he'd ever seen, for the first few moments of an encounter he was always terribly _afraid_.

And then they could see it, just barely. A hideous shape moving in the dark toward them, then Eirena lit all the torches around them at once, flooding the narrow hall with icy, arcane light.

Gods, and that thing _shrieked_. It was some kind of red skinned beast, heavy set, fatty flesh sagging from its gut grotesquely, with small, shrew like eyes blinking in the sudden light. Its opened, screaming mouth had large yellowed front incisors like the mouth of a disfigured rat, flesh pulled taut over the gums. It looked like a horrible mix of a rodent and a man with strange demonic appendages protruding from its back. Lyndon had the sudden, horrible realization that the creature did not have red skin at all, it was simply coated head to toe in _blood_.

Kormac charged ahead immediately and drove his spear deep into the chest of that thing, and pint after pint of blackened blood poured from the deep wound. This seemed to only make it _angry_. The Templar's attack seemed to hearten the young Horadrim who forced his own weapon into the monster's neck. Blood ran down in a waterfall and coated Lorath's hands as the stream ran down the handle of his spear.

Eirena was hanging back with Lyndon, throwing handfuls of conjured magic orbs that formed in the spaces between her fingertips with frightening speed. Lyndon felt that now was probably a good time for him to start shooting at the wretched thing. He pulled one of Jack's arrows from his quiver and it felt strangely warm in his hand when it hadn't before. He loaded it into his crossbow and fired, then watched in stunned amazement as it divided into not three but... twenty? _Forty_? More than he could _count_.

Surely that wasn't... he _couldn't-_ He was beginning to understand why Jack had first said _no_.

The bolts seethed and curved like a school of fish, and Kormac and Lorath lept back to avoid the sudden stream of bolts. They all hit their mark and erupted into curling tendrils of violent, living shadow. When the arrows hit, Lyndon vaguely wished they _hadn't._ Great sprays of blood shot from that awful creature like a geyser as though that thing was just a casing filled with blood and nothing else, spraying everyone in a fine red mist. Somehow still _alive_ , even riddled with arrows, it's beady little eyes fixed on _him_.

“ _Neeeppphhhaaallleeemm_.” It groaned and shuffled toward him. Did it think _he_ \- because of Jack's enchanted _arrows_?

It lurched toward him, shoving Kormac's weight backwards as the Templar forced his weapon in deeper, trying to kill it. Lyndon quickly pulled a dagger from his coat and threw it, the blade spun and struck the creature between the eyes, killing it neatly... well maybe not so neatly.

 _Well, at least he was still good at that!_ Lyndon thought. Finally it crumpled to the ground, dissolving into a puddle of gore.

Grimacing, he plucked his dagger from the meaty puddle and wrapped in in a handkerchief. He briefly reflected on how numb he had become to such grisly horrors, after the initial fear of course. It was probably better that he was, he thought, he may have gone mad months ago if he wasn't.

“I think... that Adria knows we are here.” Eirena muttered, staring at the pool of blood that had once been a... a thing.

“Why do you say that?” Kormac asked, wiping his spear on the edge of his tabard.

Eirena pointed at the puddle that was quickly forming into a magical symbol of some kind. A pentagram with little sigils burning into the floor around it.

“A blood golem.” Lorath said. “I had always wondered how much Adria relied on Diablo’s power instead of her own. Based on her blood golems, her magic is very strong. These flesh gorgers are raised from earth, stone, and demon blood, and they are driven to feast on humans so they may resemble us more closely.” The Horadrim explained.

“That's _pleasant_. Let’s hope they don’t succeed then eh?” Lyndon offered, hoping they wouldn't see any more of these things down there. Though, knowing their luck they likely would.

“Yes. Only necromancers have used blood golems in ways that are not so evil. I wonder how much Adria has sacrificed to use a magic so vile.” Eirena said.

“Hopefully enough so that we can _kill_ her.” Lyndon replied evenly, hoping that Jack would be back soon.

“Aye.” The Templar agreed with him. For once.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

After a few minutes of searching, Jack found a staircase that seemed to lead to the floor below. He quickly descended steps that lit a low, ambient blue, lighting the way ahead of him. There was an indent in the wall that acted as a hand rail of sorts, and he held onto it. He'd wasted precious energy chasing after Shen, and he was tired. Too tired to be frustrated with him anymore, he just wanted it to be over so he could slaughter that betraying demon lord's whore, and then collapse somewhere after.

Lyndon's offered nap was sounding better by the second.

He turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs and nearly crashed into the jeweler. He forced himself to loosen his death grip on his crossbows and sighed.

“Please don't run off on your own. It's dangerous.” Jack admonished tiredly.

“I'm so grateful I have someone like you to protect me. Now shall we go? I believe the jewel isn't far!” Shen chirped happily, then ran ahead again, the wolf following close behind him.

“How can you be sure?” Jack called, following him closely.

“Oh, I just know these things.” Shen answered him confidently. Somehow, the Demon Hunter didn't quite believe him, if this took much _longer_...

They quietly ran down a few more hallways, not meeting any monsters or indeed finding anything that could even resemble a jewel. Eventually, the hallways opened up into a spacious room with a low ceiling and Jack could see the glint of a red ruby jewel lying on the floor, but... _no_ , it was-

Shen ran forward with a cry. “The jewel! The jewel I've found it at last...” The jeweler said with disbelief, but what he picked up was not a whole stone, only pieces. “No... the jewel has been destroyed, _Dirgest is free_!” He squeaked.

Gods, could _nothing_ go right?

Jack's crossbows had already been drawn and he looked around wildly, the wolf pressed against his legs and growled. A guttural voice came from the shadows then, and he could make out the form of some hulking beast.

“Zei, is that you? You look... _different_.” The creature uttered, then stepped forward into the light. And of course the creature would mistake the jeweler for Zei, because they were one and the same! Jack was certain of it now.

And that _demon._ Was it Dirgest? It resembled the great Oppressors he had seen in the High Heavens with it's large muscular body and useless blades for wings. If it was the same kind of demon, then was sure he would be able to kill it.

Shen looked up at the creature, his face showed no fear that Jack could see, but his bottom lip trembled as though he were near tears. “I believe you are mistaken Vekriss, I am _Shen_.” He insisted to the beast.

Vekriss, or _whoever_ he was, roared in rage, and charged forth, wielding a great heavy mace. It was an easy thing for Jack to move and fill it's miserable body with his bolts. It was almost too easy, and he had never felt so grateful that it was _easy_. Though in the back of his mind, he wondered why it was so easy, he was exhausted, why did slaying such a great demon take no effort? Had he changed so much?

When the demon had fallen and disintegrated into ash, the shimmering form of a young woman appeared in the center of the room, a spirit of some kind. She worse simple clothes of sea-foam green with many gold adornments. Her hair was a perfect glistening silver, like the face of the full moon. She opened her eyes and blinked in the dim room.

She was _beautiful_.

The woman squinted at the both of them, “Zei? Is that you?” She asked in a musical, ringing voice.

Shen approached the woman and looked at her like he was seeing the face of someone he had lost long ago, and would never see again. Jack had seen that expression on many faces, more times than he could count. “Zei is gone and is no more. He's a legend... and a myth.” The old jeweler said to her sadly. “The man who stands before you is but a simple jeweler. I have seen the years and I have loved and lost, and I have grieved and wept.”

The woman smiled sadly, but her expression did not diminish her loveliness in the slightest. “Whoever you are, you have freed me. And I am happy to have looked upon your face.” At this, Shen smiled warmly at her, then looked down at the floor briefly.

“And I am filled with joy to have seen yours once again. Farewell and go upon this last journey.” Shen replied gently, and the woman laughed like the twinkling of stars, smiling, before she faded away.

... _Liria_?

“Shen? Are you alright?” Jack asked after long moments of silence, Shen held the shattered remains of the jewel in his hands and stared at them with an unreadable expression.

“Please, I just need a moment alone. Here.” Shen answered quietly, then opened a portal before them. Jack did not see an amulet like the one Eirena possessed, he wasn't exactly sure how the Jeweler was able to make the portal, but didn't ask.

“This will take you back to where your friends are waiting. Do not worry about me, I will find you later.” Shen explained, the familiar smile back on his face.

“Are you sure? What will we do now?” Jack asked quickly.

“Dirgest is free, and we will have to find him, but you still have much to do. Go. I will see you when you return.” The jeweler said to him and waved.

Jack nodded goodbye, confused and worried by how...c _oherent_ the jeweler sounded at that moment. He grabbed the wolf by the scruff of her neck and pulled her with him through the portal.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

The Demon Hunter returned to the strong odor of blood. There was blood everywhere and for a moment, Jack froze in shock and barely-there terror. They were all _covered_ in it and gods, they were _dead,_ slumped against the wall like puppets with their strings cut and he was alone here now, he'd have to continue on alone and _Lyndon_ was-

“Oh, hullo! Alright?” Lyndon said to him cheerfully, dispelling the horrible illusion and bringing a wave of relief. He released a careful breath, feeling a little better. They were all sprayed with blood, but appeared to be unhurt. He had seen a similar sight in his dreams a thousand times before, he was just tired was all. Just tired.

“Hello Jack... Where is Shen?” Eirena asked him curiously from where she was kneeling on the floor in front of a worrisome looking sigil etched in blood. Kormac was rubbing at blood stains on his armor with a frown.

“It's... a _long_ story. What the Hell happened here? Everyone's alright?” He asked a bit anxiously.

“A blood golem. Adria's.” Lorath explained quickly as he copied the sigil into his journal.

“She knows we are here then?” Jack asked, examining the sigil as well.

“Yes.” Eirena said a bit distractedly as she did some kind of magic to the sigil. Learning more about it perhaps? He could never be sure _what_ she was doing, magic was not his forte.

“Good. Let's hope she doesn't _run_.” Jack said dangerously.

“That... _blood golem_ was disgusting. I hope there aren't more. And you know that thing called me _Nephalem_ when I hit it with one of your arrows? And when I fired they multiplied more than _I've_ ever been able to do and when they hit they did this... _thing_.” Lyndon said in a rush, handing him an unused arrow.

Jack blinked at the arrow, sensing something odd about it. It felt more... _powerful_. “...What kind of thing?” He asked, begging the thief to give a bit more information than that.

“I don't know, some shadows that moved, it was different from the last time.” The scoundrel answered, not revealing much more at all. “You... said to _tell_ you if odd things happened so...” The thief finished offhandedly. Jack sighed, at least for once Lyndon had done as he'd asked.

Jack frowned, wondering if he should take the arrows back. But they had not hurt him, nor done any of the dangerous things he had seen happen when Hunters had been unable to control the powers they used, perhaps they were alright? According to the thief's description they were working _better_ than alright.

Hm. Perhaps it would be better to be safe than sorry. He would not risk Lyndon's life by being careless.

“Thank you for telling me... If it's alright... I think I'll take them back for now and try to get to the bottom of it.” Jack said a little hesitantly.

“ _Alright_?” The thief scoffed, “Don't be silly, they're yours anyway, you don't have to _ask_.” Lyndon said with a grin, handing the bolts back to the hunter. He seemed rather glad to be rid of them. Whatever he had seen had obviously concerned him.

They all took a few moments to try to clean the blood off as best they could, then gather their things. It wasn't long before they were following the narrows hallways as before, albeit a bit more cautiously this time. There was no telling if they would see more of Adria's blood golems.

“You know I always thought _I_ was a little bit Nephalem. Just a little bit?” Lyndon said from his side.

Jack sighed, feeling a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “Definitely not.”

“I get it, you don't want me to join your _exclusive club_. I see how it is.” Lyndon sighed with fake hurt.

Jack smiled, feeling much relieved.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Adria next, I had meant for it to be this chapter, but things got away from me (as they often do).


	14. The Witching Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Diablo will return. I have done what I can to ensure it. He always finds a way. In your heart of hearts, you know this."  
> —Adria, a witch
> 
> Note: Some game dialogue used, and references made to the Demon Hunter short story 'Hatred and Discipline' from Blizzard.

_There in the ruins,_  
_borne of darkness._  
_Approaching the altar,_  
_as the arrows begin to fly_.  
— _Arrows in the Dark_ , The Sword

 

The last time Jack had seen Leah, before she died, she was sitting on the edge of the bed in the Bastion's Keep armory room, wearing worn, comfortable clothing for bed. He'd noticed she was not wearing her headband, and her brown hair hung loose about her face. Adria, her mother, was in the main armory room, keeping watch over the stone so Leah would be able to get a few hours rest. But she was not yet asleep.

There was a lot that had happened at Bastion’s Keep that was not as clear in his memory as it should have been. He had been very tired for many days, and even much of the High Heavens had been a blur of gold and silver light, but he remembered this conversation with Leah with a crispness akin to a cold morning or a mountain stream. Crystal clear.

He had left Kormac, Lyndon and Eirena sleeping in the hay, they all needed a break or they wouldn't be able to keep going. Jack had dragged himself to see Leah before they would leave to slay Azmodan. He always intended to come back, planned to win, acted as though failure wasn't even a _possibility_ , but he was not a fortune teller, and never truly knew what would happen.

“Aren't you tired Leah? You should rest while you have the chance.” Jack said to her, seating himself next to her on the edge of the bed. “And when you wake, Azmodan will be no more.” He had promised with a slight smile.

She smiled back, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. “Yes, I'm glad this is almost over. I don't... I don't think I have much _time_ left.” Leah said a little sadly. At the time, he had wondered why she would have ever said such a thing.

Perhaps she had somehow known even then, how it would all end for her.

“Don't say that. You have a full life ahead of you. Do you remember that inn you wanted to build? Your safe place?” He had said to her trying to cheer her up. Leah had looked so _sad_ , he missed the hopeful young woman he had met in New Tristram, he hoped that she would come back to herself after all this was over and done.

“No, you were right. There is no safe place for anyone. Look around us. If this _keep_ can't protect us, what chance would a silly little _inn_ have?” Leah replied crossly, climbing under the blankets with a frown and curling up on her side, facing away from him. For a moment he had been deliriously envious, but if he even allowed the thought of lying down to fully form, he might not have been able to get up again. Even just sitting down was a risk.

He swallowed, flushing a little, unsure of what to say to her. Perhaps if he started with an apology... “Leah... I'm _sorry_ for criticizing your inn earlier. It was a fine idea, and I think that you really should pursue it. That is the life you were truly meant to have.” He'd argued, wishing he wasn't always so negative. The way the world was... _everyone_ needed a dream to hold onto.

His was eradicating every last demon in Hell and Sanctuary alike. He was very close to fulfilling it.

“As long as you can imagine a future, you will still have hope, Leah. And hope is our most important weapon in this battle.” He'd said with more confidence. “You will live to see your dreams fulfilled. I promise.” Jack finished, certain then, that they would win and walk away from this unscathed.

Leah rolled onto her back and looked at him. “When the demonic rage builds up in the stone... it gets harder to keep them at bay... but... I can do it when it happens next time. I know I can. Thank you.” She had said with a tired smile that he was relieved to see.

They were quiet for a few minutes, and Jack thought that perhaps Leah had fallen asleep, her eyes were closed. But as he looked at her, her mouth quirked upwards at the corners into a grin and she opened her eyes again, looking at him.

“When I get back to New Tristram, I want the _biggest_ bowl of packbeast boiled dinner that Bron can make for me.” She stated wistfully. “I'll eat it all.” Jack smiled at that.

“Who knows, he may not be be running the Inn anymore, perhaps he has taken the position of mayor since Holus had fled, and inexplicably found his rotten way here.” Jack replied with a touch of humor.

“I haven't spoken to Holus, I doubt he even knows I'm here...” Leah said with a hint of annoyance. “I bet Bron would still make it for me. Even if he _is_ mayor.” Leah said hopefully.

“I am sure he would.” The Demon Hunter agreed. Everyone in New Tristram had loved Leah, he was certain they still did.

“Where will you build your inn?” Jack asked her, in a bid to lift her spirits a little more.

“I was thinking Caldeum. That city had been my home for so long, and I was born there after all. I'd be close to the library too. Perhaps I can get some of uncle Deckard's books preserved there.” She explained, closing her eyes again. She looked very tired, Jack didn't want to keep her up any longer... but he had _missed_ talking to her.

“I'm sure he would like that.” He'd replied. “Running an inn... I don't think I could go back to that kind of life.” Jack had said thoughtfully.

Leah grinned and opened her eyes again. “Well, if you ever want a job, I will consider your credentials.” She said haughtily.

And The Demon hunter had laughed for the first time in... he didn't know. “Perhaps I should just visit.” He'd said finally, and she was still looking at him, but her face was unreadable.

“What is it?” He asked when she didn't look away.

“It's nothing, just... you look very different when you laugh.” Leah said smiling just slightly. “And your eyes... they're blue. Like water.”

Jack had flushed a bit, and blinked self consciously. No one had ever said anything like that to him before. “Oh.” He said, feeling a little stupid. And Leah giggled, making him feel even more foolish.

“I'm gonna sleep now.” Leah said, sounding like she was half asleep already.

“Sleep well Leah, I'll see you later.” Jack said to her, getting up. She didn't respond, apparently asleep already. He stood there a moment, watching her sleep, her chest rising and falling rhythmically as she breathed. Without thought, he reached out his hand to run his fingers over her hair, but stopped himself before he actually made contact, pulling his hand back quickly.

Then he had left. Never to see her smile again.

That had been the last time he had ever spoken to her, and sometimes he replayed the conversation in his head, wondering if there was something he should have noticed, something he could have done to save her. Or sometimes he just thought of it when he missed her too badly.

But he could not change what had happened to her now, there was nothing left for him to do but torture himself for the trail of broken promises he had left in his wake. Promising to save Deckard Cain, promising to save Leah and telling her that she would live a normal life, promising to save Lyndon's brother, even promising his sister that they would be alright, but only he had walked away. Each time he had failed. And the only way he had been able to continue living with the weight of all his failures was to avenge those he had broken his promises to.

Maghda's corpse was decomposing into the desert sand, picked at by vultures. Lyndon's brother's killer was still a mystery to be solved, but Adria was here _now_.

And he would not let her escape his wrath again.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

All it took was one perfect memory of Leah, rising up unbidden, to eradicate any feelings of tiredness and kindle Jack's smoldering rage into a roaring inferno. There was a small amount of joy he took in slaying Adria's blood golems, it was like killing her piece by wretched piece. He hoped that somehow, she was able to feel it.

He was certain the others were aware of how his mood had suddenly blackened, he stopped speaking, and they didn't attempt to converse with him. Lyndon seemed as though he wanted to talk, but instead pulled his bottom lip into his teeth and cast the Demon Hunter more than a few concerned glances.

The crumbling stone halls were much wider down here, but they turned every which way like a labyrinth. Without a map and Lorath's good memory to guide them, they could have been wandering these halls for countless hours. There were more lights ahead, more lit torches that glowed a subtle blue. It eventually became so bright that Eirena's staff was no longer needed to banish the darkness. The light revealed more artwork carved meticulously into the stone. Figures in the likeness of demons alongside stoic, winged angels. Faces in the walls, some depicted fair and calm, others harsh and seething. Jack wondered how much the Nephalem of old had resembled their parents, did they perhaps resemble one more than the other? Was the appearance of humanity a form that had been refined over generations? Would _he_ change over time as his powers grew until he looked like his ancestors? The thought of becoming more demonic was troubling, but he could not dwell on it now.

Corvus seemed a sad, dark place to live, far away from the sun and the fresh air above, there would have been no birdsong in their mornings. Just darkness and torchlight. Though, he remembered Lorath saying the city had sunk deep into the marsh over the years. This very likely could have been above ground at one time. There were many openings in the walls, some shattered and filled with ancient Nephalem bones, others that looked into old rooms with decaying pottery. But some openings were packed with moist soil and moss, implying that they could have once been windows to the outside.

The passive thoughts of his strange heritage came and went, interspersed with horrid, blacker thoughts of the witch, and the laughter of a dear friend he would never see again. He could see the pain and determination in Eirena's face, the sadness borne of a lost friend. The two girls had been quite close, and he knew how badly Eirena had been hurt by it, likely as badly as himself.

They had all loved Leah in their own way. The time for vengeance had come. He could almost envision the life leaving Adria's eyes. He _needed_ to see it, in order to validate the life he still had while Leah's had been so cruelly taken away from her.

So _close_ now.

A closed door ahead, the carvings on it were electrified in blue light. The door sank into the floor at his touch with a lightning quickness, and gods, the smell was incredible. Pure copper and rot. _Blood_. There was at least ten of those golems blocking their way, dripping the vile red fluid onto the floor. He did not hesitate to throw another precious grenade into the center of them, but he did feel a slight amount of regret when several of the creatures exploded, painting the room, and everyone in it in a violent spray of gore.

In his peripheral vision, he saw an urn filled with blue embers shatter, and for a moment he saw a human shaped spirit erupt from the broken remains. He blinked rapidly and blamed tiredness for the apparition.

Blood fell on his face like a warm rain, but nothing would stop him from firing bolts at what remained. The Demon Hunter was dimly aware of the others attacking, some of the creatures froze solid then shattered with more bolts from Lyndon. While others were burned by bursts of arcane missiles from Eirena. He could hear Kormac and Lorath fighting with their spears, but did not look to see them, too focused on what lay before him.

The initial explosion had rattled the room, and at the center of the open space was a pit of some kind, housing an enormous, disturbing stone likeness of a woman's face, mouth hanging open and eyes carved so deep that light did not penetrate their shadows. Bones rose up around her face, and what climbed out of that pit of remains in a swelling geyser was a veritable army of squealing, chittering scarabs.

He could see another door just ahead, and Jack had no qualms with killing his way across the room and all the way to Adria if he needed to. He moved far to the right, loaded his crossbows with flaming bolts then circled back. He could hear Kormac's shouts as the Templar hacked at the scarabs with a short blade, and the awful crunching sound of the little creatures being crushed beneath his heavy plate boots.

The wolf snapped at the scarabs viciously and pinned them with her paws, allowing Lorath to get in a good strike here and there. Better than standing around and doing nothing the Demon Hunter supposed.

Jack observed with pride, Lyndon was in fine form, picking the things off one by one, aim excellent, his heavy crossbow fired with a quickness born of incredible skill. The ice arrows burst out occasionally, but the rogue seemed to be trying to save them. Very wise of him. They would likely need all of their resources to defeat the witch. He joined Lyndon in killing every last thing around them, his enchanted bolts setting fire to them, smoldering their corpses.

It was over quickly and Jack was grateful, he was beyond tired of petty distractions. Though, as it often did, the aftermath of a fight brought on the urge for conversation from his companions. Something he had grown used to over time.

“All of these blood golems... how is Adria able to maintain so many? They require one's own essence to create, her power must be incredible.” Came Eirena's hushed tone, her breath stuttered a bit as she wiped blood from her face and armor with a square of fabric she had conjured water into. She seemed dismayed about the bloodied state of her dress, and Jack felt a slight pang of protective guilt. Despite all his attempts not to, he still treated her like a little sister.

“Perhaps she'll be weak from blood loss when we find her.” Lyndon piped up, scowling at the filthy state of himself. “Or even _better_ , maybe she bled to death already from making all these stupid golems.” He speculated hopefully.

When no one answered him right away, he spoke again. “I can't believe Adria's _here_ of all places...” Lyndon muttered with a frown.

“Where _else_ would she be?” Jack asked, mildly frustrated. There was a growl in his voice that he wished hadn't been there, but he was no longer able to control it.

“Oh, _I don't know_!” Lyndon spat, waving his hands about in emphasis. Likely, he was annoyed by Jack's attitude, but there was nothing the Demon Hunter could do about that. “Maybe burning in Hell for what she did to _Leah_.” He finished sullenly, folding his arms and frowning.

“ _Not yet_. But that is where I will send her.” Jack answered, then spoke no more as all desire to talk left him. Hearing Leah's name spoken aloud was painful and only made him angrier. And that was _good_. Anger kept him focused. Kept him _awake_.

“Why _is_ Adria here do you suppose?” Kormac asked curiously.

“I suspect she wanted the stone as Malthael did. She serves Diablo after all.” Lorath offered. “Only he beat her to it.”

It was difficult to contemplate which outcome was worse. Adria getting the stone, or what Malthael had done since he had come into possession of it. Jack thought of the hundreds of corpses rotting in that Westmarch courtyard a few miles away and thought no more on the subject.

They continued on with great caution, down long, empty corridors and endlessly descending stairways. The very walls wept moisture that ran in rivulets down the steps. A drag of his fingers confirmed that it was not water, but blood. Adria's vile power infecting the very structure of the ancient city, even as it corrupted the bog and its creatures like an unbound plague.

But only for the moment. _Only for the moment._

At the end of that wide hallway was a great staircase with a deep, scarlet aura rising up the steps. The odor of blood that wafted up from that red void was nauseating.

_At last._

The Demon Hunter turned to the Horadrim, “Wait here Lorath. We will find you after.” He grit out, in a bid not to let the rage come into his voice. It was only a partial success. He would not have Lorath getting hurt or killed, he needed everyone to be at their best, and the Lorath's fighting skills were _meager_ at best.

“Jack, I'm sorry I offended you, but please... we're all _counting_ on you.” Lorath reminded him in an unsubtle plea.

Jack could only nod at him. “I will do what is needed.” And, thinking again, he turned to the wolf. “Stay.” He bade her and pointed at the Horadrim. At least the young man would have some protection and the wolf would be out of the path of Adria's magic. One less thing for him to worry about. It was tempting to beg Lyndon to stay as well, but the thought of putting the rogue's life above those of Kormac and Eirena's was a selfish and terrible one.

He had relied on Lyndon's skills for months before this, why was it so much harder to trust him to protect himself _now_? He thought the question in his head, but he already knew the answer. He cared for the thief more now than he had before, and that was a crippling vulnerability he worked hard to conceal, even from himself. Still, he looked at Lyndon who stared earnestly back at him, fingers holding tight onto the handle of his lightly misting crossbow, and felt as though he should say something to him, but the time for that had passed.

In truth, he wished that none of them were here and that he was alone, allowing him to narrow his awareness to only himself and the task at hand. This conflicted with the desperate relief he felt at _not_ being alone. But now was not the time to worry about it so he pushed all of it away and turned to the staircase.

_For Leah._

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

They descended the steps, wondering what they would find there. The light that oozed up from below washed everything in pale red. It made Jack's eyes ache a little, but they were already hot from the Hellfire that burned within them, warming his cheeks. He glanced at his companions, and their steely expressions matched his own. The pride he felt for their display of courage in that moment, was strong.

The stairs were slick with blood, Adria had not used such powers when she had traveled among them, this 'blood magic' was something new. Perhaps a gift from her vile master Diablo? No matter. It would not save her.

And then they were at the bottom of the stairs and were in the archway of a great, torchlit room. At the very center of the room was a square pit that roiled like boiling water and steamed. A pit of blood. And he had imagined it thousands of times in the short months after the defeat of the Prime Evil and the witch's escape, seen her in his nightmares, but to see her again standing before him produced a sudden, indescribable wave of pure, burning hatred. It was so strong he felt dizzy, drunk with it.

How _dare_ she live? _How dare she?_

Adria looked much the same as the last time they had seen her, dressed in robes of purple and red, her gnarled wooden staff beside her. She did not seem to notice them yet, engrossed as she was in conjuring images in the smoke before her, as though looking for something.

“Let's see where you've been hiding Malthael.” Adria muttered idly to herself. She cast a heavy wall of smoke and shadow above the bubbling pool and images flashed within it, some of Westmarch, but nothing else coherent. He didn't care what she knew, he wanted her dead.

“A witch and her cauldron. _Fitting_.” Jack spat.

She turned slowly to face them, unsurprised, dispelling the smoky images with a wave of her hand. “Jack. It's good to see you again. And you've brought your friends. It has been a while.” She said to them conversationally. “Imagine how pleased my master will be when I present him with the heads of the Nephalem and his companions. A pity I don't have the stone to seal your soul as well.” She stated calmly. Her words made his blood race hard through his veins. He held the grenade in his hand, rolling it in his fingers.

“Imagine how little remorse he will feel when he learns that his _precious_ servant has been slain in the depths of Corvus.” The Demon Hunter replied coldly. He felt proud of how calm his voice sounded. He would have plenty of opportunity to unleash his rage upon her.

_Soon._

Adria smiled at that, and for a moment, he could see the features of the daughter she had condemned to death. _Leah's eyes_. His heart ached in his chest. “The angels will never suffer us to live, they cannot accept the fact that we may choose our own path. At least demons are not so rigid in their beliefs!” She hissed at them.

“Your words are _poison_!” Kormac growled at her, curling his fist around the hilt of his spear. Eirena's face showed a well controlled anger, and Lyndon's eyes were narrowed in cold hate of her, an arrow was perched between his fingertips. They looked ready.

Now was the moment.

She grinned wickedly, and Jack could see the madness in her eyes. “I do not need angels or demons, I will make my own fate and _seal yours_.” He snarled.

He sparked the end of the fuse on the grenade and hurled it at her, but at the last moment she stepped backward and allowed herself to fall into that great seething pit of blood, the blast missing her by inches. The Demon Hunter roared in anger, and furious, he ran forward to the edge of the pit. The blood frothed and a ruby red glow rose from deep within its depths.

A skull grinned up at him from the center of the pit, and then eyes formed in the empty sockets from the fluid flooding into them. Then her skeleton began to rise forth. She was _changing_. Horns curled from her skull and shoulder blades, while great, skeletal wings extended from her body, walking her body out of the pit like the delicate legs of a daddy-long-legs spider.

She cackled, delighted, as blood flowed over her bones, reforming muscle, ligaments and skin until she hardly resembled herself. A hideous, scaly skinned creature she had become, her face twistedly beautiful in its own way, like the visage of a succubus. And indeed her robes had been mostly eaten away, her body brought naked before them, with nothing but frayed leftovers of purple cloth to cover her. Not that it mattered, she was so transformed that she barely resembled anything human. Even her feet had been altered, ending in delicate, red cloven hooves.

There was nothing left in her features to remind him of Leah, which made it all the easier to end her.

She screeched and spun her wings at them ferociously, slicing the air like sweeping blades, and they all scattered out of the way, and began unleashing attacks upon her. Jack saw his arrows chipping chunks of bone from her spidery wings, but they did not seem to harm her as much as he desired.

Adria laughed and cast great pools of purple fire, melting the stone beneath them and they avoided burning death just barely. Annoyed, Adria turned back to the pit of blood and roared, stretching her hands upwards, casting a spell. A black pentagram appeared at her feet, and the blood pit surged, sending forth great coagulated pieces of blood that began to _move._

The blood rolled on the stone and leapt toward him, sending out tendrils like veins, staining the ground a sickly orange-brown. A vein brushed his boot and the material started smoking.

 _Acid._ “ _DON'T LET IT TOUCH YOU!_ ” Jack shouted quickly.

Eirena cast a wave of force, planting her staff firmly in the stone and channeling her power, scattering the living blood far away from them. Adria whipped her bone wings violently and struck the enchantress, sending her flying to the bottom of the stairway with a cry.

“ _EIRENA!_ ” Came Kormac's yell of rage and fear and he ran to the enchantress's side, picking her up carefully, saving her from the blood that still reached to burn them alive. The anger ate at him, burning away his self control, and the Demon Hunter fired endless rounds at her, she deflected many, but there were many more that still struck.

Adria cast another burning pool of purple flame at his feet, and he tumbled away from it. As he did so the witch moved for Lyndon, who was sending frozen arrows, sometimes six at a time, flying at her.

In one swift motion, she pinned the rogue to the floor, sending his crossbow spinning over the stone. Her great skeletal wings flapping once. “Greedy, lecherous, Kingsport _filth_.” She hissed at Lyndon, her voice was different, her accent changed. “I was born in Kingsport, I lived there with my father who was a wealthy merchant, even _after_ he murdered my mother in a drunken rage.” She snarled in the rogue's face. “He cared more for his wealth and petty possessions than he did his own daughter. You remind me of him thief. I burnt him _alive_.” She finished hatefully, and conjured black flames in her hand, raising it up to kill him.

And Jack was moving, anger dissolving quickly to fear like sand through an hour glass, weaving around the living blood. She would not take anyone else away from him, he would not allow it. _Over his cold corpse would he allow it!_

But Lyndon had gotten better. He got his arm free from where she had held him and threw a handful of sand into her eyes. And she shrieked in rage, both hands going reflexively to her face. Then the thief thrust his hand forward, forcing a blade between the witch's fingers into her left eye, then grit his teeth, twisting the blade hard to the right.

“ _That was for Leah you gutter wench!_ ” Lyndon yelled at her, eyes wild.

And her high pitched, blood curdling scream of agony was _music_. Adria flared her skeletal wings up and back, the bones making a harsh snapping sound with the quickness of her movement, and she sent out a blast of energy, sending Lyndon backwards to the wall. He hit hard, and stayed there stunned, but appeared unhurt.

And then Jack was on her, crossbows forgotten, forcing her down to the floor with a strength he was not aware he possessed. Her great, grotesque wings scraped over the stone uselessly as Jack's fingers closed around her throat, his other hand grabbing the base of her right wing. He felt the tide of power and hatred rising within him again, as it had before in the courtyard, and he let it come. The shadows twining and leaping forth, living tendrils of darkness. Somehow it was easier this time, he felt the dizziness worsen with the overflow of power, but he felt like he were able to control it better than before He still remained aware, and he was so grateful for that.

He wanted to _remember_ seeing the life leave Adria's eyes.

“ _Are you so angry because of Leah?_ ” She wheezed, and gripped at his forearm. “ _What a waste!_ ” And she laughed, air hissing from her throat as he squeezed.

Jack made a choice then, and stretched forth his awareness. He wanted to know what she knew, and he knew how to ask without wasting his breath.

(( _The most dangerous thing a Demon Hunter can do..._ ))

He locked onto the thread of her power and followed it within her, searching for the answer he needed. The information that would simultaneously end her and give this wretched world a chance.

_Show me, witch. THE EYE SEES._

He pressed forward, aided by the power that poured from him, it had never been so _easy_ before.

(( _Do you know Lyndon_ \- … - _you may peer back if you know how._ ))

Then he _saw_.

_A woman put to the stake in a town square, laughing as she burned, red and gold banners flying high atop the buildings- A severe looking man with a mustache, hitting a woman, his fists striking her over and over, even as she lay still, the blood- fire, such fire- Maghda- coven- the worn face of a warrior, ruby glistening in his forehead, a feeling of unmitigated terror- the desert sand- a baby crying- Leah from far away- Deckard Cain-_

“ _SHOW ME!_ ” He snarled at Adria, the madness boiling within her threatened to swallow him, but he held it at bay.

_Himself- Lyndon, Kormac, Eirena- servants of Belial- the cold keep- Leah's death all over again-_

“ _Where is Malthael?!_ ”

_Corvus- and- a great city-no, a land of some kind- a world-_

He reached further.

_A half world, suspended with arcane power- not on Sanctuary- the scar of creation- the word came loud in his head-_

_PANDEMONIUM._

All at once he drew his consciousness back from her. He had her now.

“No one will remember you Adria, I will make certain of it. I will burn away every mention of your name and even your blackened remains will blow away like dust before a hurricane. All traces of your existence will cease to be, save one. The only good thing you ever achieved. I will make certain Leah lives _forever_.” He snarled, even as he heard cartilage popping in her throat.

“ _Do you see the fires now? Do you hear the voices now? Look at me and know terror again, as you did before._ ” He seethed, and squeezed his fingers, watching the blood roll down from her eyes, the hilt of Lyndon's dagger protruding from her skull. He pulled her right wing from it's socket, sending dark blood spraying out, bones splintering in his fingers.

And she _laughed_ , somehow, even still as he crushed her neck, vertebrae splintering, even as she bled from the hole in her back, she _laughed_.

Air whistled from her like a death rattle. Her hand was searing through his armor, the smell of torched leather, then the scent of his own skin burning in her grip. He couldn't feel anything, but he assumed it was hurting him.

Not bad enough to make him stop.

“Diablo... my master....sent me a... vision... he...escaped...the stone... and it was _you_ who had released him.” She hissed, then cackled madly.

He bared his teeth and a vicious sound escaped him. “ _NEVER!_ ”

And he squeezed his fingers tight and ripped backwards, tearing her throat out in a spray of blood.

There was no joy then, likely he'd never feel joy again, but there was a vague feeling of peace. Satisfaction. Retribution. A promise fulfilled. Her body was melting, the acid of her vile remains eating away at the stone, but he no longer had the energy to move.

(( _Remember this Jack, revenge does not bring them back, but it does... dull the pain._ ))

_Leah..._

The seething energy died in a rush like dust blowing in the wind, leaving him cold and numb, and he tilted toward the floor, unable to stop exhaustion from taking him.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Lyndon envied other people for many things at various points in his life. He envied them for their wealth when he had been poor, he envied them for their food when he had been hungry. He envied the children who had mothers and fathers when he and Edlin had gown up without parents, he envied the nobles for being above the law. He had even envied his brother when he had married the woman he loved. But he did not feel such a strong rush of envy for any of those things as the one he felt now because Kormac, even exhausted from the fight and the healing spell he had cast on the hunter's arm, was still strong enough to carry Jack effortlessly up the staircase (his _and_ the hunter's crossbows hanging off his shield) while he himself was unable to do so. He had never been jealous of others strength, valuing his wits and looks above everything else.

But just this once he wished he were stronger.

It was a petty revenge that Lyndon instead carried Eirena on his back, her arms were tight around his neck and he was _very_ aware of soft breasts pressed against his shoulder blades. But he was not above pettiness, shaky and exhausted as he was. His back was hurting and he was glad Eirena was so petite, she barely weighed anything at all. His hands hurt too, burnt raw by acid and he tried not to touch Eirena's legs too much, even as he held them up while he carried her. Any brush against the skin hurt. Lyndon knew Kormac's thoughts were with the enchantress, as his were with the Demon Hunter. Eirena's leg hurt her much too badly to put weight on it. She had regained consciousness quickly, in time to see what Jack had done to Adria. Lyndon had also seen, and he would try his best to _forget_ it.

Jack did not want to be thought of as a vicious, monstrous killing machine, so Lyndon would try to do him the courtesy of wiping that grisly scene right out of his memory. If he could. He had a feeling it might haunt him for a long time.

He hoped Eirena had merely twisted an ankle in addition to the bruises and burns she had, and that nothing was broken, and overall was grateful she had not been hurt more. His heart soared with gladness at Adria's long deserved death, but all he could think about was Jack.

When Adria had died, her body had dissolved into the same acid blood that had chased them around the room, and Jack had collapsed, exhausted or injured severely Lyndon had not know at the time, but he had known that he needed to get the man away from that witch's burning remains or he would have likely been killed. Lyndon had managed to drag Jack away to the stairs, a dead weight, blood burning through his calfskin leather gloves to the skin beneath.

Kormac had shoved holy water into his lap and told him to pour it over his hands while the Templar busied himself with healing the nasty, hand shaped burn on Jack's arm. At Eirena's insistence of course, the thick-skulled bastard had been trying to heal Eirena _first_.

Other than that burn and some visible bruises, the Demon Hunter seemed uninjured. _Exhaustion_ then. It wasn't nice of him to think it, but he thanked Akarat that the man was unconscious, maybe he'd finally get a bit of rest now.

But then he thought about what Myriam had said about his nightmares worsening, and frowned.

It didn't take them long to pick up Lorath and the wolf and conjure a portal back to the enclave. Hopefully to never set foot in this dark, dingy place again.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Hours later, Jack was laid up in Myriam's bed, asleep, head pillowed in the rogue's lap, while Lyndon threaded his bandaged fingers through black hair that he couldn't feel, but knew the softness of. It was nearing dawn, and he was _tired_.

Most of the blood had been cleaned off at least. The Demon Hunter was wearing a spare shirt of Lyndon's because the thief had been unable to find spare clothes for the demon hunter. He apparently owned two, simple black tunics and both were filthy with blood like the rest of their things. At least he had clean, spare trousers. Lyndon likened his own would be too loose at the waist and too short on the legs. He had expected to be glad to see the man laid bare before him again, but he had only felt concern at the number of bruises he had seen, and the weight he had not. Gods, he needed to _eat_.

The burn on Jack's arm had been bandaged, it might even scar. A reminder for the rest of his life, as if he needed another symbol of what he had lost.

Of what they _all_ had lost.

There was a very fat cat staring at him from a chair. It had been lying on the bed before, but the Demon Hunter had moved too much for the cat to stay comfortable. Lyndon had woken Jack countless times, trying to free him from his wretched dreams, but the hunter had only blinked at him, unseeing, then fell right back into them again for another round.

The nightmares had stopped for now, or at least he hoped they had, and Jack was lying still. He hoped they were truly gone and that it was not just a lull. An eye of a storm. Lyndon wasn't sure how much more of watching Jack writhe in torment he would have been able to stand. He thought about sleeping, he was _very_ tired.

He had almost brewed Myriam's tea, _almost_. And as he was about to pour the hot water with shaking hands onto the carefully measured dosage of plant material, he'd had a thought:

Jack had done something to find out from Adria where Malthael was. If Lyndon gave him the tea, tired as he was, he would likely sleep for a _very_ long time, and in that time, more people would die. If Jack found out that Lyndon had done something to prevent him from waking as soon as possible to stop the renegade angel, he would not forgive him.

Worse yet, the Demon Hunter likely wouldn't forgive himself. It was with a heavy heart that Lyndon had condemned Jack to his dreams. And as the hours had passed in a slow misery of shivers that would start and stop, twitches, and groans of suffering, he prayed to the gods he had done the right thing.

 


	15. No Shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The eye of the storm. Things will only get worse from here.
> 
> NOTE: I have added a little over 3k words to this chapter because I felt it would take away from the tone of the next chapter. It seemed to fit better here. Sorry if this is a bit confusing.

_At the fountain by the gate_  
_a Linden tree stays all alone._  
_Its shadow gave me Sanctuary_  
_for many lovely dreams._  
  
_I carved into its rough old skin_  
_many a sweetheart word_  
_wherever in the world I've been_  
_It never was too far._  
― Herbert Nehrlich, _The Linden Tree_

 

When Kormac woke on his bedroll by the fire, it was early morning and he was the only one up that he could see. The windows in all the parked caravans were still dark, and the surviving Westmarch residents had not yet emerged from the shelter provided by the cathedral's interior. He did spy Brycen lying asleep on a bedroll beneath Haedrig's wagon, hood pulled up over his head. The sun had risen, but it was still quite dim, the sky overcast by heavy, grey clouds. It was cold outside, the Templar could see his breath misting clearly in front of his face. He stared up at the sky and wondered if it would snow.

Eirena was still asleep, curled up under a pile of blankets, hair undone and spread like threads of spun silver-gold over her pillow. Kormac swallowed heavily, and spread another blanket over her, since he was no longer using his. Her pink lips parted slightly and she sighed, burrowing herself deeper into the blankets, and did not wake. He had never felt such a sudden, crippling fear that constricted his breath in his chest like a vice, as when Eirena had been struck down by that vile witch. In that moment, Kormac had forgotten everything else but _her._ That... had never happened to him before, and he was confused and worried by it. His lack of focus could have been _disastrous_ , but Jack had won anyway, killing Adria in a most violent and _disturbing_ manner. But... killing her all the same. Perhaps Leah's soul could find rest now, wherever she had gone.

Eirena had been burned in several places, especially bad on her left leg, and her lovely ivory skin was marred with bruises. The Templar was grateful her ankle had only been twisted and would heal quickly with rest (and a little bit of healing from himself). He was angry with himself for not protecting her as well as he should have, and he had briefly hated Lyndon for being the one to carry her, as he had needed to carry their unconscious Demon Hunter. At least Eirena was alright,there was no need for him to be upset about it anymore. Feeling his face heat, Kormac busied himself with getting the fire going rather than staring at his pretty companion.

It did not take him long, he was well practiced, and the wood they had from smashed church pews was very old and dry. He felt a slight pang of regret at burning holy property, but likened the Light would forgive them for doing what was necessary to stay warm. He sat a moment and spotted a freshly laundered pile of brown and black clothes sitting on one of the steps by Myriam's caravan. Jack and Lyndon's things then. Nearby, hanging on a line, he saw some of his own clothes and Eirena's. Myriam must have cleaned them before joining Shen in his caravan for the night. The Templar frowned a bit at that and decided to think no more on what they may or may not have done in there. He would thank her for her kindness when she, ehm... _emerged_.

Not having much else to do, Kormac decided that Jack would very likely be wanting his clothing when he decided to wake. If he would be able to wake at _all_. When he'd carried him, the hunter had weighed practically nothing, and it had concerned him, but he wasn't quite sure who he could talk to about it. Maybe Eirena? Certainly not _Jack._ Not Lyndon either since he didn't care about _anything_ but his own wretched self-

Well, that wasn't _exactly_ true was it? He had cared about his brother who had been killed, had grieved for him, and had not spoken a single word for over a day. He seemed to be awfully concerned for their mutual demon hunting friend as well, he hadn't left Kormac alone when he was patching up Jack's arm. And even when the Templar finally turned his attention to healing and dressing the thief's burnt fingers the man hadn't snapped at him or complained as he usually did, attention fixed on the hunter. Kormac may never say it to his _face_ , but Kormac thought Lyndon concealed a more honorable heart than he wanted others to see. Sometimes... the way he _acted_... just like an overgrown child. It was hard to forget that the thief was not the same person now as the one he had been months ago. He had changed much.

Come to think of it, where _was_ that scoundrel? He had not seen him since last night, where had he gone to sleep?

He furrowed his brow a bit and decided, not having much else to do for the moment, that he would bring Jack his clothes, and then perhaps he would look for Lyndon.

Kormac gathered the pile of clothes -they felt dry enough- and opened the mystic's caravan door soundlessly. It was dim inside, and a large cat mow'd at his feet, weaving around his legs. “Shh, be silent.” He whispered at the thing, and it blinked up at him with bright orange eyes, purring. He eased a large, purple curtain aside and set the bundle of clothes down on a nearby chair. Almost without thinking, he glanced at the bed. Then blinked a few times, allowing the scene before him time to register.

Well, at least he didn't need to _look_ for Lyndon anymore.

The rogue was lying in the bed on his back, head turned away from him. He had his arms thrown loosely over a head covered in a mess of black hair. Jacks head, that was resting on the thief's bare chest. They were both sound asleep, curled together in in the limited space of that bed in a rather _intimate_ manner. Kormac immediately felt as though he were intruding upon a private scene that he was not meant to witness. He left the caravan as quickly, and as quietly as he had come.

Outside, he saw that Myriam was up and cooking some kind of meat, disks of ham, over one of her many outdoor stoves. She turned and smiled warmly at him and he felt his face heating up, as though he had been caught doing something he shouldn't have.

“Are the arbalists still asleep?” Myriam asked him cheerfully and Kormac started. She said 'arbalists' as though she meant to say something else.

“I!- Um- They- I. _Yes_ -” The Templar babbled awkwardly.

“Ah, good. Hopefully they will stay that way a little longer. Jack is very tired.” The old Vecin woman replied, pleased. Not too far in the distance, he could see that Eirena had woken and was sitting up. She was dragging a brush through her light colored hair and then proceeded to tie it up in her usual fashion.

“Um, yes he- ahm... Is.” Kormac agreed absently, watching Eirena. Myriam followed his gaze to the enchantress and smiled.

“Eirena is quite vivacious for one with such a burden, don't you think?” Myriam asked him sweetly.

“Ehm...” The Templar grunted, turning red.

“You'd best keep your vows in mind. Or maybe you _shouldn't_!” She added with a girlish giggle.

“I am a _Templar_ madame, and my vows are very important to me.” Kormac insisted curtly, looking for a way out of the conversation, but the question that had formed in his mind burned inside him so strongly that he couldn't help but ask. Myriam knew a great many things, perhaps she would know this too.

“Why is... _Lyndon_...” He began, but couldn't bring himself to finish his sentence, still too shocked he was even asking it in the first place. Was the thief taking _advantage_ of the Demon Hunter? It sounded absurd in his head, but...there was a vulnerability about the Demon Hunter that could make him susceptible to such things. It was not uncommon for lonely men to latch onto the only thing nearby that could offer them any comfort.

Kormac blinked and looked everywhere but at the enchantress.

“Perhaps he has developed a little patience, ah?” Myriam answered vaguely, and that wasn't really an answer at all.

Myriam laughed at the expression on his face, and Eirena joined them on the lavish carpet. Kormac frowned from where he sat, always feeling as though he were missing the punchline of some jest.

He vowed to have _words_ with that scoundrel.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

_He remembered very clearly Lyndon looking down at him, eyes unnaturally bright as they reflected candlelight. He had looked so worried-_

_This vision was interspersed off and on with different dreams that he could not wake from. Dreams filled with blood and intense heat- the woman burning in the town square with those banners,eyes melting in her head and bleeding fluid down her peeling face. Laughing at him. But it was not the nameless woman from before, it was Leah who laughed and burned- His father swinging the axe against the tide of devouring demons. The blood that pumped from his neck. His mother alive and screaming while they ate her. Halissa begging him over and over to take her home- Where's mummy and daddy? They're not here anymore- I'm sorry-_

_The drunk man, beating a woman to death, and when the man finished and turned it was Lyndon this time. A deer running through fire, burning. Eirena didn't get up from where she had fallen, neck turned at a sickening angle. Leah's terrible smile, her skin pale and dead, shifting with barely contained evil, twisted and scarred by the Prime within her. Adria dying, the spray of blood as he killed her, himself laughing in the savage joy, the burning pleasure of killing her, but no, Lyndon again- his last words spat with contempt, eyes hateful, teeth bared in hatred, even as blood filled his mouth and overflowed at the corners:_

_Youdon’tunderstandtherestofusanym-_

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Jack snapped awake suddenly, thrashed, and struggled out of bed and to his feet before he had even taken in his surroundings.

“OW! _Ow, ow, ow_! Jack, _hey_ -”

Standing produced a sudden head rush and dizziness that made his vision gray at the edges. Balance was non existent. He reached out to grab something, anything, to steady himself, and his fingers met hands, then strong arms were around him, guiding him to sit down hard on the floor. Jack broke out in a cold sweat, panting and blinking as he waited for the room to stop moving, completely disoriented.

“And _that's_ why you don't get up so fast after you've been unconscious for hours, you bloody idiot! You _kicked_ me! Can't you ever just wake up like a _normal_ person?” Lyndon snapped, but he sounded more worried than anything else. The rogue was shirtless and rubbing at his ribcage with one hand and wincing, while he used his other hand to rub sleep out of his eyes. His hair was completely tousled, no longer slicked to his head as he usually had it. Locks of it fell into his eyes and there were even pieces of it sticking up in the back, as if he had slept on it awkwardly. Jack blinked and looked down, trying not to stare. He breathed through his mouth, feeling a bit ill, and drew his knees up before putting his head down and closing his eyes, wondering if he was going to be sick.

A warm hand brushed against his clammy forehead, then carded his hair back a few times before it settled flat on his back, in-between his shoulder blades, fingers spread. Jack was acutely aware of the heat that seeped from the thief's hand.

“Those... shadow things are back...and your eyes... are you in pain?” Lyndon asked seriously. “You're white as a sheet.”

“No.” Jack said with a shake of his head. His voice sounded shredded. He hadn't been entirely truthful, his arm was throbbing from where... then everything came back to him. Adria. And something else that teased the edges of his memory. He cringed at how vicious, how _uncontrolled_ he had been. And worst of all, how easy it was for him to do such vile things, he'd nearly enjoyed it.

Nearly. Was that a lie too? He enjoyed the fact that she was no longer living, and refused to think further than that.

“I thought that when Diablo's corpse lay decimated before me that the nightmares would stop.” Jack said, his voice a breathy whisper.

“ _What_?” Lyndon asked anxiously.

“Nothing.” He answered swiftly. “Did you hurt your hands?” Jack asked him, staring at the bandages on his fingers. Changing the subject.

The thief stared at him a moment, furrowing his brow in thought. “Just burned them. They don't hurt.” Lyndon replied dismissively. “You sound _terrible_.” He added.

Jack didn't answer, instead he observed the shadows that wisped from his body, not as visible as they tended to be, but there all the same. He couldn't control it all, it came and went, usually because of pain he had eventually realized, but he was not hurting enough to account for this bizarre aura. Something else then. His eyes felt warm, and he knew they must be bright with Hell's fire. He supposed there was nothing to be done about it now.

Jack glanced around, realizing that he was in the cozy interior of Myriam's caravan again. He took in his surroundings, having never had the chance to really look before.

Prettier and more cozy than Haedrig's, was his first impression. The bed at his back was covered in a large purple quilt and many plush, mis-matching feather pillows. A bundle of drying roses hung upside-down from the ceiling above the purple drapes separating the “bedroom” from the rest of the caravan. The ceiling itself was painted a deep sapphire, with white stars dotted in, he could even recognize some constellations from memory. Shelves were secured to the wall displaying many knickknacks and strange talismans. Some looked more valuable than others and he wondered if Lyndon had been able to keep his hands to himself. The orange eyes of the large black cat met his from beneath a dresser that was covered in make ups, perfumes, and brushes and hair ties. Things that a lady would have. A gap in the curtain revealed a sliver of the living area beyond, a kitchen with cupboards and many jars. A narrow table with two seats. Hanging teacups of every color and porcelain dishes. Meticulously labeled spice jars. A small woodstove. A pot containing a large tarantula fern hung from the kitchen ceiling by a thick rope, potted hens and chickens, and other succulents, including an aloe plant, adorned nearly every surface. He could smell orange and cinnamon potpourri that mixed with the ever lingering smell of blood and leather that he couldn't seem to get out of his nose.

It was decorated in a way he knew his mother would have loved.

“You look good in my shirt.” Lyndon purred with a playful smile. Jack blinked, then looked down at the cream colored tunic covering himself. It was more open at the chest than he was accustomed to, and he'd never been one to wear whites. He was unsure if he should be embarrassed or not. The rogue reached for his face and Jack shrank back instinctively, hating himself for it.

“What's wrong?” The scoundrel asked in quiet confusion.

Jack tensed and grit his teeth. “How can you... _say_ such things? When you've s-seen the awful things I-”

“Shh. Don't be daft.” Lyndon interrupted, and kissed him, insistently coaxing, bringing a different kind of dizziness. His breath hitched. Warmth flooded his gut. It was chaste in comparison to their usual desperate clawing of each other, yet beneath it was the promise that it could easily and _quickly_ escalate. As such interactions with Lyndon often did. He wasn't sure if that made him nervous or not, he had told himself to stop letting it make him anxious, but it was easier said than done. He hated himself for his lack of self control when it came to the rogue, but Jack still shamefully reached for him, needing to pull him close to feel warm again. To know that Lyndon had not bled out and died hating him as he had in his nightmares. Lyndon broke the kiss, and ran a heated palm under the borrowed shirt, burning a path up the length of his spine.

When his arms had secured themselves around the rogue's neck and shoulders he released a shaky breath, then drew one in, inhaling calfskin and sandalwood and other scents he recognized but could not place. How was it that he always smelled _good_? He tried to relax but felt like his muscles would never loosen again.

_Too much and not enough._

“You know when I suggested a nap earlier...” Lyndon began with his usual breeziness. “I was hoping that it would be a bit more... _restful_.” His voice sounded normal, but Jack could hear how his breath had quickened, and imagined that his eyes had darkened as well.

“What would you have me do? Lie in bed and let the world die?” The Demon Hunter muttered tiredly from where he had rested his forehead against Lyndon's collarbone.

Lyndon sighed dramatically, while untangling Jack's hair with magic fingers, scratching over his scalp. It felt- “ _Nooo_ , I only wish-”

“There is no one else.” Jack stated blandly. He could feel Lyndon's heart beating steadily, but rapidly in his chest, and there was nothing he wanted to do more than go back to sleep with him. He let the thought linger pleasantly in his head for a moment before pushing it away. Selfish thoughts like that only invited weakness. Failure. _Death_.

“I know, I know, just...” The thief breathed out in an agitated huff. “How about you sit right here and I'll bring you some breakfast, hmm?”

Food. That's right, he needed to eat to stay alive. Like everything else.

“Fine.” He agreed, and Lyndon grinned cheerfully at him, then got to his feet. He disappeared through the curtain and came back with a glass of water, and shoved it into his hands and the Demon Hunter murmured thanks, not realizing how thirsty he had been. Jack watched Lyndon, bleary eyed, as he pulled his boots on, then dug through a pile of clothes resting on a chair, Jack noticed his own things in there as well. The scoundrel located a fresh shirt and pulled it on then wandered over to the mirror above the dresser. He winced at the state of his hair and ran his fingers through it, smoothing it back, then turned to him.

“Don't go away!” Lyndon called to him cheerfully, pointing at him in an animated fashion, before he stepped outside.

Jack closed his eyes and sat very still, sipping the water. He sat there for many minutes, relishing the calm. After a short time he leaned his head back against the bed and willed his muscles to unclench.

The nagging feeling that he was forgetting something... that there was something he needed to be doing _right now_ was biting at him again. He wracked his brain. Adria was dead. What else mattered?

 _Adria_...

Oh.

Malthael.

 _Pandemonium_.

It hit him like a bolt of lightning and he cursed furiously, jumped to his feet and got dressed as quickly as he could.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Kormac observed Lyndon who had just exited the mystic's caravan, casual, as he often was, lazily running his fingers through his hair to fix it as he frequently did. The bandages the Templar had out on his hands last night were still there, though the thief likely did not need them anymore. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but Kormac knew that something definitely _was_.

“Morning.” The thief greeted them amiably. Myriam handed him two empty bowls and two forks, moving back to her tiny stove to get food. Lyndon took them with a cheerful smile.

“Ah, how did you know? Wait. Never mind.” He said evenly and she winked at him. The Templar was always a bit uncomfortable around the mystic, she was always asking him _questions_ about himself. He shuddered a bit, some people were too nosy.

“He's awake?” Myriam asked Lyndon as she served measured portions of food into the bowls he held. Kormac assumed she meant Jack.

“Well... _Yes_.” The thief answered calmly. “Though I wish he weren't.” He added with a frown.

“I take it you did not use the tea then?” Myriam asked gently, Kormac wondered what she was talking about. Lyndon only stared at her, balancing the bowls in his hands carefully, but at the same time, he fidgeted _still_ , trading the bowls to different hands, spinning them just slightly while he spoke.

“I can only assume... that you _knew_ I wouldn't.” The thief said a little sourly. Kormac frowned as he observed the thief talking about the demon hunter as though he were his damned keeper. Surely someone _else_ would be better suited.

“Hard choices build character celdo.” Myriam chided, scraping ham out of the pan into the bowls.

“I don't think I need anymore _character_ , thanks.” Lyndon muttered, annoyed. Myriam laughed warmly at that.

Lyndon held one bowl against his chest with his arm so he could hold a fork and eat from the other.

“Alright Eirena? Didn't break your dainty ankle did you?” He asked the enchantress warmly and Kormac bristled.

“Oh yes, it doesn't hurt at all anymore. Kormac healed most of it for me. Just some burns and bruises. They will heal with time.” Eirena answered cheerfully. And Lyndon _smiled_ at her, and she smiled _back_.

Lyndon finally turned to him, by now the Templar had worked himself up to a smoldering anger.

“You've been staring. Something on my _face_?” Lyndon asked curtly.

He meant to say something else, but sometimes he couldn't fully control what his mouth decided to say.

“Are you... are you _sleeping_ with him?” Kormac suddenly blurted, then turned pink with embarrassment for having asked at all. Eirena choked on her food and Myriam paused in tossing the food in her cast iron pan.

Lyndon stared at him, expression unchanged, completely unruffled, then he scoffed, rolled his eyes, and smiled in a way that did not reach his eyes. “Well, we _did_ share a bed so, yes I _suppose_ -” he said, feigning thoughtfulness.

“That's- That's not what I _meant_!” Kormac stammered irritably, wishing he could take the question back.

“I know what you meant.” Lyndon sneered at him. “Do try to keep up.” Kormac narrowed his eyes at that. That... _scoundrel_!

“Oh, boys, there's no reason to _fight_ -” Myriam began gently but they both ignored her, eyes locked together hatefully.

“Here, I'll tell you. Truthfully.” Lyndon said with a false sweetness and leaned in close to the Templar. “It's. None. Of. Your. Damn. _Business_.” He said with a calm sort of anger, punctuating each word.

By the light, that only _confirmed_ it.

“Of course it is! You have _no_ right-!” Kormac sputtered angrily, clenching his fists.

Lyndon made an indignant sound at that. “Oh! _I_ have no right? _You_ have no right to tell _me_ what I can and can't do!” Lyndon snapped venomously, eyes narrowing coldly. “No right at all to tell me who I can and can't spend _my_ time with.” He grit out. All traces of good humor were gone. “What I _can_ and _can't_ have.”

“ _You are taking advantage of him!_ ” The Templar accused furiously. There, he'd said it.

“ _Kormac_ -!” Eirena said sharply, trying to interrupt, she sounded upset but he ignored her.

Lyndon seemed taken aback by the accusation and stared at him a moment in enraged disbelief, chest heaving. The thief seemed genuinely angry. Kormac realized he'd never seen him _angry_ before.

“Why do you _hate_ me so much?!” He hissed. “Is it because I flirted with your little _crush_? Something you still haven't managed to get the _bollocks_ to do I've noticed.” He snapped viciously. “ _Pathetic_.”

“Lyndon-” Eirena pleaded. Myriam said nothing, merely observing them.

Kormac felt his face turn red with shame and anger. “You!- you!-” He sputtered, too furious to speak.

“Think you're better than me because of all your _precious_ vows? You know _nothing_ about me. You know _nothing_ about _anything_. I've lost more than you've even _begun_ to have.” The thief seethed. “I would _never_ take advantage of him. _Never_. You're the one who doesn't have the right.” He spat. “Don't you _dare_ tell me what to do.”

Kormac just stared at him stupidly, unsure of what to say.

Lyndon stormed over to his bag of possessions and Kormac watched while he pulled out a _familiar_ looking amulet- wait a minute, was that- then Lyndon came back and practically threw it at his feet.

“Not that it matters, since you're to bloody _thick_ to ever notice anyway. I borrowed this, but here. Keep it. I don't want it anymore.” The scoundrel said angrily, but his voice had lost much of its bite now. He sounded more hurt than anything else. Then he marched far away from them and sat by Haedrig's forge, sulking.

“Kormac, that was a very _cruel_ thing to say.” Eirena said unhappily, she looked angry too.

“But- I was only- I-I _meant_...” He didn't know what he meant. Or even what to _say_. He didn't think. He never could when it came to the thief. He wished he hadn't gotten so angry so quickly. He knew Lyndon meant well most of the time. Why did he always get so _furious_ with him?

He glanced at Eirena who was frowning into her food, and immediately knew why.

Jealousy was an _ugly_ thing.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Lyndon scowled into his food, leaning against the still warm side of the smoldering forge. _Dumb bastard_. He wished he had a drink, if only to loosen the tightness in his chest. He looked at the other bowl, knowing he was supposed to be bring it to Jack, but he didn't want to go back over there. He shoveled more food into his mouth and tried not to feel upset.

It didn't matter. Of _course_ it didn't matter. It had never mattered.

It didn't matter what he did, what he said, how hard he tried or how good he acted. He would never fit in with them and Kormac would always _hate_ him. He was like every Kingsport guard he'd ever encountered. He was always _guilty_ until proven _innocent_.

Granted, he _was_ often guilty, but this was completely different!

How _dare_ he accuse him of taking advantage of Jack? He had no idea, he knew _nothing_ about it. Kormac had drooled into his pillow while Lyndon had stayed up half the night, looking after the hunter. Of course Lyndon cared. Couldn't he see that? Kormac had _no_ _right_.

Lyndon scowled and thought about throwing the bowl as hard as he could at the ground, just to see it crumble to pieces. In that moment Lyndon hated the Templar more than anyone.

“Uhm, good morning Lyndon.” A voice from behind him. He jumped, nearly choking on the potatoes in his mouth. He spun around to see Brycen, having just woken up from where he had been sleeping beneath Haedrig's caravan. The blacksmith must still be asleep.

Lyndon grit his teeth. How was it that this brat always spoke to him when he was feeling his _worst_? Why did he always try to talk to him? Lyndon closed his eyes a moment and fought the urge to snap at him.

“Hello Brycen.” He said as calmly as he could manage.

Brycen blinked at him and stared at him like a frozen deer. He seemed surprised that he was not being _yelled_ at, poor sod. Lyndon suddenly remembered the sword he had planned to give to him as an apology.

“I'll be right back. _Stay there_.” Lyndon said quickly, setting his food down. He went to his bag, pointedly not looking at Myriam's carpet where he knew they were all still sitting, and removed the wrapped sword. He saw the ferrets asleep in his bag again, curled up together, and they looked so _happy_ to be there that he couldn't muster the energy to get upset.

He sat back down and handed the boy the sword. “I uhm, I thought you would like this. I'm _sorry_... that I _yelled_ at you. Before.” He ground out awkwardly. He didn't feel like smiling, or apologizing for _anything_ , but he didn't feel angry anymore either.

Brycen's face lit up, “Ohh! Thank you!” He exclaimed happily. “It's very _old_ , where did you get it?” The lad asked him excitedly. Apparently, his shyness could be overcome if he got excited enough.

Lyndon had never heard him talk so much before. “In Corvus. A Nephalem relic.” Lyndon answered him with a hint of smugness. He smiled a bit as he saw the boy's eyes get as big as saucers.

“Wow! Thank you!” Brycen stammered, and Lyndon grinned at him, feeling a little better. At least _one_ person liked him.

Well, he was being silly. Jack liked him, he knew that. Haedrig liked him. Shen did too, and Myriam seemed to. More people liked him then hated him, but... for some reason, Kormac's dislike seemed to _hurt_ more.

He'd admired the Templar once. He reminded him of his brother sometimes. Lyndon bit his lip and tried not the think of it anymore.

Myriam's caravan door opened, and Jack stumbled out, fully dressed.

_Shit._

The Demon Hunter dodged a barrage of concerned sounding voices that Lyndon couldn't quite make out, but he could hear a distinct, “ _I'm fine._ ” from Jack. Typical drivel. Then watched him start to head towards where Tyrael and Lorath usually were.

“See you later, don't hurt yourself.” He said quickly to Brycen, and was up and running to Jack.

“Hey! Where are you _going_?” Lyndon said to him. “I thought you were going to _wait_ -”

“I know where Malthael is.” Jack said to him with urgency, all traces of tiredness gone from him.

“You- what now?” Lyndon answered, not sure if he had heard right.

“Where is Tyrael?” The Demon Hunter asked quickly, eyes flaming and scanning for the archangel.

“How about you sit and _eat_ while I fetch him for you?” Lyndon suggested gently. Jack ignored him and made his way purposefully toward the cathedral spire.

Lyndon cursed and followed him, bringing the food anyway.

_Stubborn bastard._

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Lyndon blinked tiredly at Lorath from the Demon Hunter's side, shivering a little in the cold morning. He had a cup of coffee in each hand, and listened while the Horadrim spoke about Pandemonium. He was making an effort to pay attention but he still didn't feel fully awake so it was extremely difficult.

Not to mention he always had trouble concentrating on “important” things when Jack was just _right there_.

“Deckard Cain kept extensive notes about the pandemonium fortress, he filled a journal with his observations, along with many maps and sketches.” Lorath explained to them while Tyrael prepared the necessary rituals to create a portal into Heaven a few yards away from them. “But he also wrote that the appearance of the fortress changes to suit it's conqueror. I can't imagine what it will look now with Malthael in control.”

 _Great!_ Lyndon thought, it would probably look like another damned cemetery when they got there, or a bloody _tomb_. At least it kept with their running theme of endless morbidity. Maybe they could title their little boneyard tour, 'Cemeteries of the West... _and Beyond_.'

The lady-wolf sat next to Lorath, tail wagging happily. Lyndon supposed Jack _had_ told her to stay with the young Horadrim, and never got a chance to tell her she didn't need to anymore. The Demon Hunter's eyes were flaming, and his body still steamed a shadowy blackness but at least while he listened to Lorath prattle on, he was _eating_ , which went a long way toward helping Lyndon feel a bit better. He never thought he'd get so much relief just watching someone eat.

Lyndon wasn't much looking forward to going back to Heaven, too many unpleasant memories (even though seeing _Auriel_ again did sound nice) he had a funny feeling they were going to run into that ill-tempered Imperius fellow. Though he sincerely doubted that the archangel's anger could even come _close_ to matching Jack's level of rage. And Gods, he was positively _seething_ wasn't he? He was pacing in tight circles like a caged beast and spooning potatoes into his mouth like he was killing every bite personally. Frankly, Lyndon didn't care one jot how angry Jack was, so long as he kept shoveling food into his mouth.

Well, he _did_ care if he was upset. He just cared _more_ about him eating something at the moment. Besides, there was only so much he could do to make him feel better.

At least in _public_.

“I wish Tyrael had destroyed the Black Soulstone instead of hiding it.” Jack mused irritably. Lorath seemed to have taken Lyndon's advice to heart and was pretending that the Demon Hunter wasn't angry at all and kept on speaking to him.

“The Black Soulstone was made by a man, unlike previous soulstones. We had no idea what would happen if we destroyed it. It seemed a better idea to hide it away forever.” Lorath explained gently. “We had no way of knowing that Malthael had been watching us the entire time. How could we?”

Jack seemed to soften at that, “You couldn't.” He reassured him quickly. Lyndon casually pulled the empty bowl from the hunter's hands and pushed coffee into it, which Jack accepted with a murmur of thanks. Not that Lyndon thought the beverage would _help_ much (probably about as much as a glass of water poured into Hell), the man was _far beyond_ tired, he just knew the Demon Hunter liked it.

The scoundrel could smell tea from Myriam's caravan and he desperately wanted some, but he also desperately didn't want to even so much as _look_ at Kormac at the moment. Jack still had no idea their little row had taken place, and Lyndon fully intended to keep it that way.

“What will we do when we get it back?” Jack asked Lorath seriously.

“I don't know.” The Horadrim admitted, “But it's better for us to have the stone than Malthael. If we make it that far, we'll worry abut what to do next.” Jack nodded absently, apparently satisfied.

Lyndon trailed behind Jack as he approached Tyrael. The hunter frowned slightly watching the former archangel work. “You look unwell, Tyrael.” Jack said to him with a faint note of concern.

Tyrael straightened from the runes he drew in chalk and brushed some dirt off of his robe. “I have felt pain before, but not like this. It is... different being mortal. The pain wears on you.”

“I have found that there are two kinds of pain. One that heals, and one that does not.” Jack offered, in his typically morbid fashion.

Lyndon felt that now was likely a good time to politely excuse himself and make sure he had everything he needed in his satchel. The Demon Hunter's eyes followed him as he walked away.

He set his coffee cup down and knelt at the chest that held most of their things, and dug through it for his bag. He still remembered when the Demon Hunter had started to trust him more and allowed him to keep his things in the chest with everyone elses, no longer worried that Lyndon might steal something. Before that, the thief had kept everything he owned in Haedrig's caravan. It had been nice to earn the security of a magically locked chest. Lyndon's eyes strayed to the Demon Hunter's journal again, laid neatly at the bottom of the chest under a spare tunic. He wondered if he'd ever get the chance to read it. Sighing, Lyndon loaded up his bag with food, water, rope, several daggers, fine grained sand, a vial of poison, and as many cold and lightning arrows as he could fit in his bag and quivers.

There were no bottles of wine or ale left and he sighed. Perhaps he'd have time to pay a little visit to Tustine's Brewery later on. A nice thought.

He noticed a wisp of black smoke drift up from the bottom of the chest. Curious, he dug around beneath clothes and scattered bags of gold. A smoking, wrapped bundle revealed a collection of the Demon Hunter's arrows, the ones he had originally given to Lyndon before taking them back. The thief picked one up and examined it closely, twisting it slowly in his fingertips. He peered around the bushes at Jack, drinking coffee and still talking to Tyrael... and that _odd_ shadowy aura he had.

The arrows were different from the last time he saw them, and even the time before that. They seemed more shadowy now then they did before. Strange.

He had a sudden thought.

Perhaps because Jack had made these arrows with his own power... they were changing as he did? Something to think on, that made them a lot less unnerving if that were the case, he wouldn't have to worry about getting his fingers burnt, or getting corrupted... or _exploded_ , or whatnot. He decided to take the arrows with him in case they might be useful.

He would ask Jack about them later.

Lyndon looked around for the Skeleton Key the Demon Hunter had given him and was dismayed to find that he couldn't locate it. Frowning, he looked through everything a second time. He did find those wretched ferrets again and pulled them out of the chest with a scowl. Blasted things. He dug through everything and even spilled his bag out onto the ground. _Where was it?_

Not finding it, he put everything back and stared at the ferrets who blinked up at him from the ground. He just sat there looking at them, feeling terribly sad. He couldn't believe it. It was his brother's crossbow all over again. He lost or broke everything that was important to him. _What's wrong with me?_ He thought miserably. He couldn't keep track of _anything._ Lyndon hesitantly pet the head of the closest ferret. It chirped happily, rolling around under his fingers, and then to its back trying to earn a tummy rub. It's sibling tried to push its head under his other hand, making soft chittering noises.

Maybe the little beasts weren't _so_ bad.

The key would probably turn up, he remembered he'd had it last night. He was just overtired and couldn't remember where he'd put it was all. He was sure of it. Ha! Silly of him to get all worked up over _nothing_. It was probably in the pocket of his bloody duster that was hanging up on the line.

Feeling a little better, he closed the lid of the chest-

-and nearly screamed when a blue skeleton dog charged out of the bushes from behind the stash.

“Oh, there you are Spots.” Brycen said cheerfully from behind him. That awful skeleton dog ran over and greeted the boy happily, uttering that raspy bark and wiggling excitedly.

“ _Spots_?” Lyndon asked breathlessly, clutching his pounding heart. “Brycen...you _do_ realize that is a skeleton don't you?” He drawled. Poor lad must be a bit soft in the head.

“I know. I'd always wanted a dog named Spots.” Brycen said to him, smiling. “Jack gave him to me, so I'd have a friend. He said he probably can't die! And he doesn't need to be fed so...” Brycen seemed happy. Best to leave it alone.

“Ah!... Well. Very _nice_ of Jack. Please, just keep it _away_ from me.”Lyndon sighed, annoyed. At least the Demon Hunter didn't own it anymore so hopefully he'd be seeing much _less_ of it.

Lyndon moved over to the forge, muttering a 'good morning' to Haedrig who had just shambled out the door of his caravan. He sat himself comfortably against the warm side of the forge and relaxed, sipping his coffee. He was all ready to go so no one could _yell_ at him for sitting around. He cast a glance at the sky and saw many black shapes in the sky, drifting slowly. Vultures.

He decided to look at something else.

The scoundrel watched the Westmarch residents who had begun to emerge from the cathedral interior. The blonde haired woman, Emily, smiled and waved at him and he waved back. He thought maybe she liked him, and even though he wasn't interested... it was nice to know he could still get attention. Lyndon observed some children talking to Eirena, she looked happy, smiling and laughing. He felt a little bad, he hoped he had not upset her by what he'd said to Kormac. He glanced at the Templar, pleased to note that the sod looked distinctly miserable. Good. A red-haired...girl. Yes, a girl, he was certain, but she did look an awful lot like a _boy_. Was waving her arms around as she was talking to the enchantress, and with her, a blonde haired lad that looked _awfully_ familiar-

“Oi! Lyndon!” Someone called. Hey, he knew that voice!

“ _Hansen!_ You old dog! What are you doing here?!” Lyndon exclaimed happily as he saw Captain Haile approaching him.

“Same as you I reckon, killing things what need _killing_! And I _live_ here you bloody bastard, don't you remember?” Hansen said amiably.

“My _sincerest_ apologies Captain.” Lyndon said, feigning the sad repentance of a reprimanded soldier. Then said more seriously, “Much has happened since Bastion's Keep.”

“Aye.” Captain Haile agreed. “And not all of it good.”

“Huh! Too right about _that_.” Lyndon sighed, thinking a million thoughts at once, unwilling to voice any of them.

“I just spoke to Jack, thanked him for saving my two little urchins. Pity about my house, but I don't give a damn about that as long as my kids are safe. How's your Demon Hunter been holding up? Always turns up for a fight doesn't he?” Hansen asked, rolling his shoulders under his armor and brushing a hand over his bald head.

Lyndon smirked a little at the implication. _His_ Demon Hunter, Ha! “He could be better. But I suppose that's true for just about everyone. And yes, always around for the next little problem, _dragging_ us kicking and screaming along with him.” He said with a practiced roll of his eyes.

“Did you ever free that brother of yours?” Captain Haile asked him curiously.

Ah, here came the _guilt_. He wondered if it would ever go away. “Yes.” Lyndon said quietly. “He's... he died.” He muttered quickly with a half smile, eyes downcast, hoping to change the subject.

“Ah. I'm sorry lad.” Hansen answered, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder. Lyndon nodded, smiling with a cheerfulness he did not feel. “It's alright.” He answered, even though it wasn't.

“Awfully gloomy around here isn't it? Perhaps some fine Westmarch _sauce_ will lighten the mood eh?” The captain said happily, producing a brown bottle of ale with a pleased grin.

Overjoyed, Lyndon placed both hands upon the captain's shoulders. “Oh, Hansen my friend you are a _saint_. You're getting me all misty eyed.” He said wistfully and the older man barked a laugh.

 _Praise Akarat!_ He poured his coffee out onto the ground to make room for ale.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Jack watched the spiraling tower of drifting vultures, circling what he knew to be the Noble's Rest Courtyard and Gideon's Row. Over the past few days, there had been instances of mass corpse burnings as people tried to clean the city of the rotting dead. The Knights of Westmarch were fully capable of dealing with the tainted angelic creatures that remained, and now there was only this last task to turn his attention to.

It was time to end this. He only hoped that he was strong enough to see it done.

 _Killing Death_. Who could say?

Feeling a distinct chill, Jack pulled his dark hood up over his head and made his way back to Myriam's caravan to make sure everyone was getting ready to go. As he passed the forge, he spied Lyndon and Captain Haile engaged in a serious discussion over which local brew was best. Lyndon seemed to be already prepared, and he was grateful for that. The scoundrel winked at him and smiled when their eyes met.

Jack looked away quickly. He had to focus.

Myriam smiled at him as he approached and he gave her his empty ceramic cup. Kormac was sharpening his spear with a whetstone by hand and Eirena was comparing different bottles of... something, before shoving both of them into her saddlebag. She paused and gazed at her mirror, expression troubled. Before Jack could ask her what was wrong, Myriam spoke to him.

“Good morning Jack. Aren't you glad I didn't tell you Adria would turn into a hideous monster?” She asked happily.

“No. That was rude.” He muttered, annoyed.

“You're so much more effective when you're stewing in blind rage. Petty details would have just served to _distract_ you.” The mystic purred with a sly smile.

He breathed a sigh and Myriam giggled. Jack observed the large black cat creeping out of the caravan, and watched it drag itself, belly almost touching the grass, to sit by a stove.

“So now it's on to Pandemonium ah?” Jack's eyes moved back to her. “You'll see a world that few humans have ever laid eyes on.” Myriam offered cheerfully.

“I've seen a few of them by now.” He answered blandly.

Myriam pursed her lips. “The beauty of life is lost on you, isn't it?” She huffed. There were many things he found beautiful, but at the moment he couldn't call any of them to mind. Feeling a little tired, Jack did not know what to say, so he said nothing.

“Imperius will soon need your help. But he will hate you for it.” Myriam said gently. Jack no longer questioned how she knew these things she told him, and merely accepted the new information as it came.

“He cannot possibly hate me more than he already does.” He mused. He had no desire to speak to Imperius now or _ever_ , and dreaded seeing him again.

Myriam laughed, “Oh you'd be surprised, but run along now. Tyrael is ready now and he waits for you.”

He turned to leave, already seeing that Kormac and Eirena had gone to the former archangel and were waiting for him. The he paused.

“Myriam, thank you for _everything_.” He said sincerely, hoping that his gratitude came across in his voice. Without her he would not have found Adria or the location of Malthael. They very well may have died along with the rest of the world, struggling to fight an enemy they could not see.

She smiled at him warmly, her hazel eyes sparkling. “Of course celdo. Go and fetch your thief, it's time to go.”

Jack nodded and left.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

“Lyndon, it's time to leave.” Jack said as he passed him on his way to Tyrael and the likely finished portal.

“Ah, right, right, just let me grab my coat.” He called back to the Demon Hunter. “I'll see you later then Hansen?” Lyndon said to the captain as he poured a shot for Haedrig. “Perhaps we can find a brewery to loot.”

“Of course lad! Good luck! Though I don't think you'll need it!” Hansen answered him, already slightly drunk.

Lyndon laughed, “I'll take what I can get! And I'll _never_ apologize.” He said with a wave, hauling his crossbow and bag over his shoulder. He pulled his freshly clean coat off the line, put it on, and slipped his hands into the pockets.

The Skeleton Key was there. He breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Ah, Lyndon dear. A word?” Myriam called to him as she stoked the fire in the stove. He fidgeted a bit and looked back to the Demon Hunter who was speaking with Eirena. “I'll make it quick.” She said quickly.

“Well, _alright_.” He conceded walking over.

“You'll have a hard choice to make celdo, and I trust that you will make the right one.” She said to him immediately with a sad smile.

_Hold on. What?_

“What's _that_ supposed to mean?” Lyndon asked curiously. “Should I be _worried_?” He chuckled a little nervously. Myriam beamed at him sweetly.

“I wouldn't worry dear.” His smile fell away at that. Whenever people said things like that, he always found that there was _definitely_ cause to be concerned.

Lyndon scoffed, “Wha- You can't just say something like _that_ and expect me not to- Can't you just _tell me_? Hey! Myriam!” He half shouted as she walked toward her caravan, he followed her anxiously.

“ _Lyndon come on!”_   Jack called from across the courtyard.

“A- A moment!” He yelled back. Why was she saying these things to him? What could she possibly _mean_?

“Just look after our Demon Hunter ah?” Myriam said, pausing in the doorway.

“I _was._ I-I _am!_ Myriam this isn't _fair!_ _What's going to happen!?_ ” He asked again.

“Goodbye Lyndon.” She said with a kind smile, and closed the door after her.

Of all the _cheeky_... He kicked at the ground. The _nerve_ -

Furious, he turned on his heel and ran to join the others.

“What did Myriam want?” Jack asked him before they stepped through the portal. He must have looked upset because Jack was frowning slightly, like he did when he was worried. Kormac and Eirena were listening quietly, but he wasn't ready to look at them yet. Tyrael seemed to have already gone through.

“Oh, I don't _know_.” Lyndon groaned irritably. “Some such nonsense about _choices_ or whatnot. You know how she is. _Vague_.” The thief explained with a flamboyant wave of his hand.

“Oh.” Jack said simply.

Lyndon eyed the portal dubiously, not looking forward to the belly ache this sort of magical travel would give him, but resigned to it all the same. He waited for Eirena, Kormac and Jack to go through, then cast a last look at the Enclave, hoping he'd get to see it again. Then he held his breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and walked into the swirling gold light.

 

 

 


	16. The Scar of Creation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I added 3k words to the chapter before this. If you have not read that, please take a moment and read it! :D

_“What was scattered_  
 _gathers._  
 _What was gathered_  
 _blows away._ ”  
―Heraclitus

 

Heaven looked much the same as it did the last time Jack had visited, even better since the vile corruption laid by Diablo had long since dispersed. He wished that he was not always visiting under such dire circumstances. He gazed at beautiful pillars of white marble and gold, a realm of perpetual sunrise that was the antithesis of Hell's pit of waning light. It was breathtaking, and even though it was everyone's second visit, their heads twisted and turned to try to absorb the sight of it all over again.

“Come, I will take you to the portal.” Tyrael said as he walked ahead.

Furious at the perfect state of Heaven when their own world was in shambles, Jack turned to Tyrael: “I see your angelic brethren have not come to aid us. What a _surprise_.” He hissed angrily. He was not angry at Tyrael per say, as he knew it was not his fault, but the inaction of the angels was maddening.

The ex-archangel of justice breathed a soft sigh, and bowed his head a bit, “There is confusion and dissension in the High Heavens.” He started to explain, “You must remember, Malthael was once our leader.”

“But you're on the Angiris Council.” The Demon Hunter countered, “Shouldn't that give you power over the armies of Heaven?”

“Imperius commands the host, and he will not unleash them on an angel, especially a former member of the Council.” Tyrael said with a hint of apology coloring his words.

“Of course. He prefers to see _humans_ die rather than angels.” Jack snapped hotly.

“Surely the angels will intervene now that their home- _your_ home, has been threatened? Surely they won't continue to do _nothing_?” Kormac implored, Eirena listening acutely from his side.

Tyrael considered this. “Perhaps now they _will_. On occasion, extreme events must occur before the correct response is implemented.” He answered wryly.

“Sometimes I get the feeling that you angels are even lazier than _I_ am.” Lyndon interjected after turning his attention away from the, admittedly incredible, view of the curvature and upper atmosphere of their world.

Tyrael smiled a little at that, “Indeed, that is part of the reason why I left.”

Jack had a sudden thought, “I'm relieved that Malthael spared you in the tomb of Rakkis, but I wonder why?” He questioned.

“I may be mortal, but unlike you I am not Nephalem, and I am not quite _human_ either. I have no demon blood in me, and therefore, Malthael did not see me as his enemy.” Tyrael explained thoughtfully, fingers curling around the hilt of his sword.

“And I _am_?!” Jack burst out angrily, perhaps a little louder than he meant to, “I have dedicated my _life_ to killing demons!”

“That is of no consequence.” Tyrael said gently, “You are half demon to him and therefore, on the wrong side of the eternal conflict.”

“Some angels are _no better_ than demons!” The Demon Hunter spat viciously, earning a few concerned looks from his companions. Furious, and a little ashamed of his rage, he refused to make eye contact with any of them. They walked a few minutes in silence. The beauty of the Silver City no longer awed him as it once had.

“Huh. You know I never thought they'd let me back here after last time!” The rogue remarked cheerfully, in a likely attempt to lighten the mood.

Jack released a heavy breath and tried to humor him. “Perhaps they wouldn't have if you'd succeeded in prying the gold off the railings.”

“Do you even _remember_ the last time we were here? Or was it all just a blood lust _haze_ for you?” He drawled, amused.

“Shut up Lyndon.” The Demon Hunter said tonelessly, but he felt a little less angry anyway.

Lyndon giggled, and he sounded rather silly, like an overtired child. Perhaps he was. They were _all_ tired. Maybe his memories of the Silver City weren't quite as clear as he would have liked them to be, but at least he knew what to expect here.

Or so he thought.

“What _is_ this?” Tyrael shouted, enraged, and as they continued on, the crystalline walkway ahead was strewn with slain angelic soldiers. The pure, undulating light of their wings extinguished forever. Tyrael broke into a run, leading them to a great golden portal, the hazy, shimmering view of the realm beyond clearly visible through the surface, and at the gateway, angels were desperately trying to beat back a group of Malthael's death maidens.

“The Nephalem is here! Destroy the gate!” A maiden screamed upon sighting the Demon Hunter. Jack raced forward and opened fire on her and her vile minions, his companions and Tyrael close behind him. He was stopped cold by a sudden burst of pain and muscle convulsions so intense that he dropped down to one knee. His fingers clenched tight on the crossbows in his hands as his heart raced so insanely that he thought it might burst from the cage of his ribs. He couldn't think, he couldn't _move_. But in a second it was over, and he could breathe again. Panting and trembling, he dimly realized he had just been struck by some kind of lightning, and this _infuriated_ him.

With a growl, he forced himself to move, chest twinging a bit, and charged at the maiden. Though she did not have a _face_ so to speak, she seemed surprised that he was not dead, and indeed, was equally surprised at her own swift demise when he embedded a writhing bolt in her featureless head, her dying scream split the air apart. It would take more than lightning to stop him.

Not that it didn't _hurt_.

He took a moment, clutching at his chest and panting while everyone else disposed of the less threatening undead creatures. His arm started to hurt again, where that dead witch had grasped at him. He once again took some small peace in her demise. Eirena hurled a great orb of arcane power and it exploded into a reaper's chest, killing it neatly. Kormac hacked at a trio of blue skeletons, shattering their fragile bones apart easily.

Jack's hands were shaking again, and he clenched them tighter to try and stop it. It was probably just a side effect from the residual lightning he convinced himself, though this did not make it stop.

He saw Lyndon plant his boot firmly into the chest of a slain reaper and yank an arrow out, the rogue was staring at him with a wide-eyed look of concern, then went to him.

“You- You're _alright_? That looked... a bit _not_ good.” Lyndon fretted, looking him over carefully.

Before Jack could reply, a large, golden form slammed into the shiny, marble like floor, releasing a golden wave of light and cracking the surface from the heavy impact. Within moments, the shattered ground repaired itself with gentle wisps of silver light. Jack recognized this new visitor immediately and groaned inwardly, not looking forward to this.

_Imperius._

“He _dares_ to attack us?!” The archangel exclaimed, his deep voice resonate and booming.

“Imperius, it is good that you have come.” Tyrael addressed his brother, and the Archangel of Valor nodded at him in greeting, “Yes.” But there was not the warm camaraderie that might have been there if Tyrael were still among the angels. Imperius was tall and imposing in full angelic armor, as Jack remembered him, but he did not fear the archangel in the slightest. The great wings of golden light moved gently, as though in some invisible current. The blackness within the archangel's hood reflected his black, uncaring heart. He was beautiful to look at, but the Demon Hunter hated him. He likened that the feeling was mutual.

Imperius turned from Tyrael to face the Demon Hunter, and for once, spoke calmly. “Malthael is my brother, I have fought a thousand battles by his side, and I care not that he seeks to destroy you and your kind.”

The casual way he voiced how little he cared about the innocent human lives being slaughtered by the thousands on sanctuary filled the hunter with an overwhelming wave of pure, black hatred, and only reinforced his negative opinions of the angels in the High Heavens. The now ever-present shadows that poured from him seethed like writhing eels and he clenched his hands so tightly that his fingernails cut into his palms and bled. It took everything he had to hold himself back. And gods, he could _kill_ him if he wanted to... and he _did_ want to. He was strong enough to rip him apart, of this he was certain. Such thoughts invited madness however, and he had no desire to start another damned war.

Imperius stared at him dispassionately, his body language and features betraying no emotion in the face of Jack's rage, “But my brother has grown sick, and must be put down-” _Just like a dog then you heartless bastard-_ “-for his own sake. Yet I have not the heart to do this.”

“I will be happy to do your dirty work _Imperius_.” Jack growled humorlessly.

“Hm. And so it falls to you.” The angel stated dryly, then pointed at his followers. “Why have you dragged these useless mortals along with you? They will only slow us down.” Imperius added, vaguely annoyed.

Eirena squeaked slightly, ever respectful of the angels, Kormac frowned and scooted a little closer to the enchantress. Lyndon was _not_ amused, and scoffed, deeply offended, “ _Hey_ -” He began angrily, and Jack grabbed his wrist tightly to silence him, then stood in front of him, feeling a protective instinct burning hotly within his heart.

“That is _my_ concern. Not yours.” The hunter said warningly, daring him to do something about it.

_Go ahead. Give me an excuse._

“Indeed. Then come Nephalem... and _guests_ , to Pandemonium.” Imperius turned from them and descended the small staircase, then stepped through the golden portal.

Tyrael hung back and held out his arm, gesturing for them to follow Imperius. He would not be coming with them it seemed.

What else could they do? They followed the archangel through the portal.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

The world they entered was not meant for mortals.

Snow. No, ash or dust of some kind fell from the sky, blown by a silent wind. They descended an ancient staircase flanked by familiar looking hooded figures that was common to angelic architecture, gold and silver flaking, tarnished with age, but there were differences too: spikes and chains, piles of snaking vertebrae that seemed imbedded into the very stone they walked upon. The touch of demons. It seemed Pandemonium was the one place in creation where Heaven and Hell co-mingled without visible distinction.

Perhaps he, a Nephalem, was meant to be here after all.

There was no real temperature, it seemed neither hot nor cold. Neutral like the grays, but Jack felt as though he might start shivering if he let himself. Beyond the edges of the realm over the staircase, lay floating islands of rock that housed old, twisted buildings and protruding bones. Beyond that there was nothing, a yellow light, hazy and opaque like the night sky above a burning village, stretching out endlessly in all directions. Beneath it all, a low hum of energy, and the occasional booming of shifting earth, like a distance wave slamming heavily into a cliff face. He was glad he left all his animals back on Sanctuary, they did not belong in such a place.

“Why would Imperius want you to follow him? I don't like this...” Kormac said with deep suspicion.

“Is there _anything_ you like Kormac?” Lyndon teased immediately, then strangely, he frowned and looked away quickly, as though he regretted having spoke. Kormac stared at the ground and pulled on the bottom of his worn tabard a bit, ignoring the comment. Eirena seemed unhappy and averted her eyes to the landscape.

Odd.

That aside, Imperius was nowhere in sight. Jack was not surprised, and didn't much care if they never saw him again.

“I still can't believe Imperius asked you, of _all people_ for help.” Lyndon eventually said after running a quick hand through his hair again.

“Neither can I.” Jack said to him, though he didn't much feel like talking.

There were no real discernible scents that he could detect from the place, except perhaps... _age._ He could smell the old blood and leather branded upon himself, Eirena's delicate jasmine perfume, Lyndon's warm spice and sandalwood, the clean humanity of Kormac. They seemed more real than anything else in this forsaken wasteland. More present.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, the ground beneath their feet gave slightly and they left heavy footprints in the dust. It reminded him of silt piled thick in lake beds, but perhaps it was more like the empty bed of an ocean, eons thick, millenia old, and indeed it felt a bit like they could have been crawling the lifeless floor of a waterless pit. The material that fell from the sky dusted their armor in a grey powder, black became grey and brown became light tan. Flat pastels, and Lyndon wiped some of the powder off of his head and shoulders with a look of distaste.

“This place is even stranger than I expected. That's _unusual_.” Lyndon muttered thoughtfully. He wasn't looking at any of them, craning his neck around in all directions in a bid to look at everything at once, eyes a little big.

“Pandemonium has known so many battles, that the very ground has been split asunder by the weight of them.” Eirena answered him.

Lyndon smiled. “Hmm. Thousands of years of warfare, piles of corpses, weapons strewn _everywhere_! There's got to be _some_ great treasure here right?” No one answered him, but the scoundrel seemed pleased all the same.

Jack thought he was seeing statues embedded in the rock, perhaps some long destroyed architecture, but he quickly realized that they were real corpses, they were just so old that they had become fossilized. A row of long spears thrust into the ground displayed a group of impaled angels, bodies so old that, when Lyndon thoughtlessly touched the edge of an armored angelic boot, the entire corpse crumbled to dust and drifted away in the soundless wind. He looked back at them apologetically.

Eirena stared at the long dead figures sadly, “When Seraphim fall in battle, do you think their names are remembered? Or are they forgotten, even as they are reborn in the heart of Heaven?” She asked.

Jack stared at the angels. Left to petrify on the spears that had slain them for who knows how long.

_Some angels are no better-_

“They are not remembered.” He said grimly, and moved on.

“Did you hear that voice?!” Eirena suddenly exclaimed, looking around anxiously, “Someone was calling my name!”

Jack looked around, as did Lyndon and Kormac. “I didn't hear anything.” Lyndon said, and Kormac shook his head. Jack stood very still and listened for a few moments, staring into the distance of that saffron void. The likelihood of anything knowing them by name in this removed world was slim, but Jack was no stranger to hearing voices from people who were no longer there.

“Tell me if you hear it again.” He said to her, and she nodded, looking unhappy and a bit frightened.

Not too far ahead of them, a great structure loomed out of nothingness, floating on its own slice of fissured rock. It was so large, so fortified and ancient, that Jack assumed it could be nothing else but the Pandemonium Fortress. There was a spiraling, descending stairwell that hung like stalactites without the cave to house them, suspended there in that yellow sky. It was the only way to the fortress that he could see.

They tuned a corner and there stood Imperius, glowing like a sun and waiting for them, likely impatiently, not that Jack _cared_. He did not wait long before speaking: “There is a siege camp not far from here. Meet me there and I will show you what must be done.” Then he spread his great, shimmering wings of golden light and launched himself into the sky, then arched deep into the twisting canyons of Pandemonium's topography.

“Rotten bastard, he could have at _least_ given us a bloodyride.” Lyndon complained hotly. Kormac seemed equally offended at the angel's rudeness and wore a displeased scowl on his face. Eirena seemed distracted, but that was not unusual.

“You'd trust him to carry you?” Jack asked absently, wearily descended the crumbling rock stairway that led down and away, presumably toward the mentioned siege camp. An enormous, demonic beast carcass jutted from a pillared mass of bedrock. Its clawed hands stretching forward, frozen for eternity, yet slowly worn away by the endlessly blowing, silent wind.

He felt tired.

Lyndon seemed to think this over carefully and sighed. “I suppose _not_. Though aren't you half angel or something? Are those shadowy... _wispy_ things or whatnot even wings?” He asked curiously.

The black aura. He'd forgotten. Again, it concerned him, but he pushed it away to focus on the task at hand. It didn't hurt, that's what mattered. He couldn't be sure if he felt much of anything. “I don't think flight is one of my talents.” The Demon Hunter answered blandly.

The scoundrel smiled impishly at him.“Hm. Too bad.”

Indeed. Jack gazed at the borders of the realm, they seemed to constantly crumble and spread outward, but from where he knew not. Perhaps the center was beneath the fortress. It seemed a terribly unstable place, and who knew how far one would fall through the yellow expanse. As he stared, an entire supporting wall on the edge of the world crumbled away like the collapsing glaciers he'd seen far to the north.

“Stay away from the edge.” He cautioned.

“Of what?” Lyndon asked.

“Everything.”

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

The stairway seemed endless, they traveled downwards for what felt like hours, but there was no sun, no stars, nothing to mark the passage of time. All he could think of were the lives that were ending as they wandered this timeless Hell. Was the rate one person per second? Sixty lives a minute? A few thousand lives an hour?

More? The thought was maddening and constricted his chest. He picked up his pace a bit.

The bone-lined stairwell opened up into a flat plain of more grey nothingness. Every scrap of color stood out like a beacon. Eirena's purples and magentas practically hurt his eyes, but perhaps he was just tired. Kormac's heavy armor seemed to blend in better, though the reds of his tabard glowed in a blood like hue. Even the undusted parts of his own armor were like a dark void encasing him. The browns and tans of Lyndon's usual dress stood out, warm, rich and alive, though the colors tended to appear drab on Sanctuary. The soft chocolate of his hair, shiny and silky, even peppered with Pandemonium's falling ash as it was. Even his eyes seemed brighter. That was when the Demon Hunter realized he had been staring. Lyndon smiled a little smugly, but there was a softness to his gaze that forced Jack to look away.

_Focus._

There were things here. Leftover demon troopers and their battle-scarred leaders that were climbing over the walls and emerging from the deep grey soil. This pleased him, he had almost missed his favorite prey. There was a heavy demonic gate ahead of them as well, they'd have to destroy it after. The demons were not difficult to kill, especially with all four of them working together, but there were many, and in moments there were suddenly many more.

_Gods. Too many?_

He prepared himself mentally, and loosened his grip on the demonic power that yearned to be freed. The soldiers started dying, and many more were turned into panicked, flapping chickens with Eirena's quick thinking, but was it _fast enough_ -

An explosion of golden light, and Imperius was there, having dissolved every enemy in his wake with a burst of raw power. Jack stood there panting, straining to reign his power back in after having so recently been loosed. It tired him. That angelic bastard had not helped them, he had merely _wasted_ precious energy that the Demon Hunter didn't have.

Imperius made a slight sound of annoyance, “We do not have the luxury of time.” Then he effortlessly destroyed the gate with a strike from his golden blade, then flew on ahead.

Jack grit his teeth in rage. His patience for Imperius' rudeness was wearing decidedly thin.

“Impatient sod. If he bothered to _help_ us...” Lyndon muttered, frustrated.

The Demon Hunter dug through his pockets and removed a ruby red health potion. He had been avoiding this, he did not want a repeat of last time, but he needed the energy if they were going to make it through this. It washed thick over his tongue, the texture like cold blood and he fought the urge to gag. He had _not_ missed the taste of these. Within moments his energy was back, though it always made him a bit jittery, like his skin wanted to crawl off his body.

“Bad idea.” Lyndon whispered near his ear, startling him.

“ _Do you have a better one?_ ” He snapped. Of course he knew it was a bad idea, he wasn't an idiot, and he didn't need Lyndon to point that out to him.

“ _No_. I just thought I should tell you, you stupid bastard. No need to snap.” The scoundrel said a bit snidely.

Jack released a breath. “I'm sorry, I'm just-”

“ _Tired_. Yes. I know.” Lyndon answered gently.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

More boney and fossilized staircases led to more platforms, more gates and more demons to kill, but Jack was feeling better. The potion helped, he only prayed he would not need to drink anymore. They came to another sealed gate and again Imperius appeared. Was that wretched angel just watching them struggle? Wasting their time? Wasting _lives_?

“Must I do _everything_ for you?” The archangel admonished, as though they were nothing more than foolish children.

He _ached_ for a good reason to slaughter him.

The platforms and winding, rock-lined channels stretched on, and Jack began to wonder how much of the dust was really just dust, and how much was really powdered bone, leftover from eons of dissolving bodies. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed to be a reasonable possibility.

“Do you see that enemy over there? Let us cleanse it from this land!” Eirena shouted from behind him.

A great, hulking demon was charging for them at full speed, bellowing insanely. He wondered how long the demons had remained here, even after the battles over the Worldstone had ended. Centuries? And for what? Just to kill? Their lust for battle and slaughter out of control, and aggravated by a violent, spiraling madness. To think such thoughts... teased at his buried fear, so he banished from his mind.

Yes, he saw it. It would die soon, and die it did under their combined assault of arrows, spear and magic. When the damned beast was dead there was a strange artifact lying amongst its mangled corpse, and he put his crossbows back to their familiar place on his back and picked it up carefully. Before he and Eirena could examine it closely, Imperius was there again, and Jack tightened his grip on his writhing anger in preparation for another scathing insult.

“That is a siege rune. Bring it with you.” Patience is not one of my virtues, Nephalem.” They had that in common at least. The angel flew ahead to another platform at the top of a narrow, spiraling walkway, still within sight, and waited for them.

Jack did not like to feel as though he were being mocked or talked down to, there were very few people he allowed to insult him without retaliation. _One_ person, in fact. He would not take any more abuse from this Archangel of _Valor_. He'd already wasted enough of their time and energy, seemingly for his own vile amusement and pride.

The stairway was steep and dangerous, a flimsy railing of vertebrae from some great beast separated them from the edge of nothingness and the Demon Hunter let the others go ahead of them, so that he might keep an eye on them and make sure no one lost their footing and plummeted through an ochre abyss.

“I don't, ehm... I don't like _heights_ much.” Kormac mumbled, swallowing.

“Just don't look down.” Eirena answered gently, but Kormac hugged the wall, sweat beading over his forehead. Lyndon looked equally unhappy, but didn't say a word.

In the distance he could see the fortress, and winged creatures wheeling about in the sky above it, some he recognized as the winged demon beasts he had come to despise on the fields of slaughter at Bastion's Keep. The others... he looked harder, reptilian, dragon-like, he did not recognize them in the slightest.

At the top of the overlook, Imperius waiting among tattered flags, grey with age, whipping in the wind. An enormous demonic crossbow of some kind jutted from the wall and Jack could clearly see the way in which it was constructed. Crude. Clunky. Very unlike the precision instruments he wielded.

Imperius beckoned him forward and he came, his companions hung back, Lyndon wearing a distinct scowl as he dug through a nearby pile of ancient armor, likely looking for something nice. Kormac and Eirena gazed out over the edge at the fortress below with trepidation.

“Do you see the battering ram below?” The archangel asked him, voice low. “That is the only way you can breach the fortress gates.” Jack gazed down at the immense ram, wondering how he was going to be expected to work it, he supposed he'd figure it out when he got there.

If they made it that far.

“The ram is useless without the siege runes that power it, you have one now, but there are two more. You will find them on the battlefield below, imprisoned along with the demons that carried them.” Imperius continued, and Jack's eyes shifted toward the battlefields. They were... expansive.

“The ram will do the work when the runes are applied. But know this _Nephalem_.” Imperius hissed. The Demon Hunter's lip curled slightly in hate. “Even if you release Malthael from his madness, I will _not_ thank you for it.”

“Your _gratitude_ isn't _needed_ Imperius.” Jack spat, then the angel left without a word. Presumably to go back to the High Heavens.

Jack joined his companions at the top of the stairs and filled them in on what Imperius had told him. They all seemed... disappointed by the enormity of the task at hand. They had a lot of work ahead of them and no time left to do it. Jack supposed they could only do the best they could.

“Well, let's go then. Things to kill, fortresses to infiltrate and all that.” Lyndon stated blandly, following the Demon Hunter down the stairs, Eirena and Kormac behind him.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

The battlefields were filled with demons who had refused to return to Hell, suffering madness and the harsh conditions of Pandemonium. All manners of strange creatures, pulled from half formed nightmares crawled from every stony orifice in a bid to slaughter them. Many of them resembled demons, but he had never seen demons that looked like this before, he could only conclude that they were... native residents. A writhing, three tentacled beast slithered at them, firing living, poisonous darts. There were a nuisance, and _horrifying_ , but died easily enough. Jack enjoyed the fact that things always seemed to go more smoothly when the four of them were together.

Small, insect-like creatures nested among the rocks and huge hives, constructed of red crystal. The slightest disturbances brought them out in droves. They were easy enough to kill, but were very fast, and their frenzied screeching hurt his head. One even crawled squealing up Kormac's chest and, panicking slightly, he swatted it off, then impaled it into the ground, panting. They must have reminded the poor Templar of spiders. “This place is like the nightmare of some mad man!” The Templar bellowed unhappily. Strangely, Lyndon did not comment. It was almost as if he and Kormac had been carefully ignoring each other this entire time, but Jack could not be sure why.

Lyndon huffed a breath and wiped a line of sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist, ash smearing dark over his skin where it had been dampened. The scoundrel took a drink of water, then offered it to the Demon Hunter. He hadn't realized he was so thirsty, but he did not drink much. Who knew if they would ever find water again in this crumbling world. He stared at the skin of water in his hands, and tried to will his fingers to stop trembling, will the smoke from his body and the heat out of his eyes. Nothing worked, so he resigned himself to it. At least none of these things affected his aim, though he wondered if they would _ever_ stop.

Eirena examined the dead, bug creature at the end of Kormac's spear. “These creatures survive off the lingering magic in this land, they-” And she stopped abruptly, tilting her head just slightly, looking somewhere beyond them.

“Eirena?” Kormac asked nervously.

“Can you not see it? The angelic Host arrayed for battle. All the might and majesty of the High Heavens come to wage war.” Eirena said wistfully, eyes fixed in the distance.

“ _I_ don't see anything.” Lyndon said sullenly. “Just a whole lot of rocks and grey, dusty rubbish.”

Jack followed her gaze, wondering if this was one of those times when she would see spirits that no one else was able to see. Jack did not know if this was because of her magical abilities or a personal eccentricity, but he looked out to the field anyway.

Nothing but the plains of the battlefield, spires of rock and falling ash.

Wait.

There _was_ something. Shimmering shapes of angels, an army as Eirena had described, charging forth against an equally vast assault of Hell's children. The longer he looked the clearer they seemed to be. Were they spirits? He gazed at them, fighting endlessly and felt a slight pull, something that told him to go to them. To _join_ them. And many of them were looking back at him now _beckoning_ for him to-

“ _JACK_!” Lyndon's voice, sharp and afraid, while fingers dug hard into his forearm, jerking him out of whatever trance he had found himself in. And Jack tore his eyes away from the spirits, blinking and feeling slightly dazed. When he met the scoundrel's eyes, the man smiled weakly, relieved.

“You looked a little glazed over for a moment there, thought you'd gone _away_ from us.” He said, releasing a tight breath and running a hand through his hair. Jack glanced at Eirena, and she was panting, looking equally as disoriented while Kormac gave her some water to drink.

“I understand why Malthael was drawn here.” Kormac said anxiously. “It feels like death.”

“Malthael's influence is even out here in the battlefields it seems. We shouldn't linger.” Jack said evenly, then choked down another health potion.

“Damn right about _that_.” The rogue quipped nervously, and followed him.

Ahead there was a large stone structure that looked like an old ruin of some kind, a seamless mix of Heaven and Hell aesthetics. Perhaps one of the demons in possession of the siege runes would be trapped inside? Eirena seemed to think it was likely, she could sense the timeless prisons that held them nearby, among other troubling things that she could not voice, but seemed to be constantly worried about. Jack wondered if she had heard voices again and had not told them.

Inside, the abandoned ruins looked more angelic in nature, the floors had the familiar delicate, twisting lines of gold that formed pretty geometric patterns, but on the walls were great iron archways, housing enormous demon corpses chained to the walls. They were long dead, petrified. The dull red of their mummified flesh still visible, and their sightless eyes empty black pits, mouths yawning wide, tongues dried husks within. Perhaps they were Hell's decoration, but just maybe they were Heaven's prisoners. Spoils of war. A week ago he would have refused to believe that angels would do such a thing, but now he could see the possibility.

He supposed it no longer mattered.

“I hope we can find the siege runes very soon. I do not think they are as far apart as we first believed.” Eirena mused quietly, voice echoing off the dark ceiling just slightly. There were creatures moving up there, but he could not see them, and they made no move to attack them, so Jack did not mention them.

“Indeed it would be a relief to not have to search the entire battlefield.” Kormac responded. “Sanctuary depends on us.”

“It feels like we're so removed from everything. It's hard to believe our world is still under attack.” Lyndon said reflectively while peering over the railing of the walkway at the sickly ochre light that thrummed from deep within the ruins. “I suppose that's why we have to keep going.” He finished, then examined some pieces of stone on the ground, before he picked them up and pocketed them.

“What do you need that for?” Jack asked him curiously.

Lyndon jumped a little, unaware that someone had been watching him, and his face turned a little pink, “S-something for Brycen, and the other kids. I thought- I thought they might like a souvenir.” He stammered awkwardly, then frowned, trying to appear less embarrassed.

Jack felt heat fill his chest in a sudden surge of incredible fondness for the rogue. He wanted to kiss him, but... Eirena and Kormac... he just couldn't.

He smiled at him instead, and hoped his expression was adequate.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mentioned earlier that we never see Rakkis' tomb in Corvus, but I recently observed some dialogue with Tyrael that mentioned that the Reaper of Souls cut scene actually took place in the tomb of Rakkis. When I get time, I will re-write the things I wrote about his tomb to coincide with this.


	17. Erosion

_"A man can't eat anger for breakfast and sleep with it at night and not suffer damage to his soul."_  
—Garrison Keillor

 

 

Something whispered his name.

Jack tipped his head back and cast his eyes toward the ceiling where the sound had come from. This corridor was a bit better lit and he could see more clearly. Among the protruding tips of rock were small, winged beasts. They had pretty, blue-green scales and delicate limbs. Their eyes shimmered orange in the light as he observed them.

“ _Jaaaacckk....”_ There it was again. It made his skin crawl. Though it may have been the health potions he'd been drinking.

It was a faint, clawing scrape of a sound, but he was certain he had not imagined it. He didn't find the little creatures quite so beautiful anymore. When he looked away his vision blurred heavily, but cleared again soon after. The Demon Hunter figured he had moved his head too quickly. He had been feeling worse and worse since he had woken from his meager nap, the lack of good sleep was wearing on him more than he had anticipated. How long had they been in Westmarch? Less than a week surely? More?

He had lost track of time again. It felt like months. Years even. An eternity.

He had not gotten enough rest after the incident in the High Heavens, he knew that now. His body was far less tolerant of his usual habits than it had been before. Jack accepted that he wasn't well, perhaps that was why the aura would not dissipate, why his eyes blazed _constantly_. Something within him sensed that something was wrong. But despite this, he would see this task done if it ended him. Jack focused his concentration, as he had at Bastion's Keep, and as he had in Heaven. There was no one else, as he often reminded himself, and a little exhaustion or an illness was not enough to stop him.

“Oh _Gods_ , I think I heard them speak. _Please_ tell me you're not already looking for something to replace your bat...?” Lyndon muttered hopefully from his side as they walked, breaking his dark thoughts.

“I wouldn't worry.” He _did_ miss the bat, but these beasts were... _unnatural_.

“Jack?” Eirena's voice from ahead, and he dragged his eyes away from another petrified angel corpse to look at her. “Are you well?”

“Yes, I'm alright. Thank you.” He said to her quickly, and she pursed her lips a little, unsatisfied with his answer but nodding anyway. He hated to lie to her. She looked tired too, he noted. Something weighed on her still. Was it the voices again?

“ _You're_ the one who's an abysmal liar.” Lyndon whispered to him irritably.

The Demon Hunter sighed. There was nothing to be done about it.

“If you are worried about our chances Eirena, I will tell you now, that Malthael will _die_ , just as Diablo did. We fight for all that is good, we _cannot_ lose!” Kormac declared vehemently, voice echoing off the walls.

Eirena laughed, “Kormac, you never cease to amaze me.”

“Oh! I-uhm... Thank you... Eirena!” The Templar babbled, turning pink. Jack glanced at the scoundrel, expecting him to laugh or say something mocking, but he didn't say anything at all. He merely held his face in an expression of deliberate indifference. Jack wondered if he and the Templar had fought at some point when he was not around. This concerned him. Despite all the rotten, cutting things Lyndon would say to the Templar in the midst of an argument, it was always the scoundrel who seemed to walk away with the deepest wounds.

They came upon more of those petrified demon corpses, chained to the walls and towering above them in the low yellow light, heavy shadows shifting over the walls like creeping oil. Low rumbles of the topography shifting beneath their feat thrummed gently, like the stuttered, tired heartbeat of this desolate realm. There were no creatures in here but the small winged beasts in the ceiling, and he suspected that deep in the ochre chasms on either side of the walkway were more red crystal hives of those little insect creatures. Nothing too troublesome if they chose to attack them, but the Demon Hunter began to feel a distinct feeling of deep unease that intensified by the moment.

“There is something ahead.” Eirena said suddenly, and everyone quieted, becoming more alert. A right angle turn and a fallen column of stone lay in their path at the end of the long hall. They looked around the corner cautiously. At the end of the crumbling passage was a room that housed a shimmering, blue forcefield in its center. “I think the siege rune is here. That is one of the angel's time prisons, as Imperius described.” The enchantress explained.

Excellent. They would retrieve this rune, and there would be only one left, then they could make their way to the ram and finally to Malth-

He heard a voice from within the prison that stopped him _cold_.

“ _Cursed am I to lead an army of the blind. They do not perceive that the angels are fleeing this realm-”_

The voice sounded old, like a stern father in his twilight years, but layered with an evil loathing so vile that it set his blood squirming like a river of snakes. Something about this voice spoke to something deep within him. Told him that they were the _same._ His entire body went tense, prickling heat crawling down his spine like a clutch of spiders, and he felt the blood leave his face, then pool in his gut like ice water. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to _flee_ , to get away from that awful voice at any cost. The last time he had felt such an icy, smothering terror had been in Diablo's realm of the same name.

“ _-_ _and the ones they find are merely trapped or lost. A great change is upon us.”_ The voice continued conversationally.

Someone pulled him down behind the fallen column of rock at the corner of their path - _had he just been standing there like a useless fool?_ \- and the four of them huddled there, listening, and praying they had not been detected by whatever terror lurked in that room. Jack locked eyes with Lyndon briefly and felt that warm fingers had threaded tightly with his. The fear he felt lessened, falling back into the realm of his control.

He had read countless descriptions and heard the tales of the most cunning of the demon lords, both the commander of the undead, and the one of The Three that was most dangerous to Demon Hunters in particular. They practiced their creed, always with one foot in _his_ realm. A voice that dripped spite like this could be none other than the Lord of Hatred himself.

_Mephisto._

And, peering over the edge of the rock cautiously, Jack could _see_ him now. A shrunken torso, wet, leathery looking skin stretched taut over bones that ended in a spinal column that hovered a few inches off the ground. Mephisto was a tall, frail looking, _grotesque_ beast that nevertheless radiated incredible power. He appeared slightly agitated, two of his four hands clasped peacefully while the other two limbs gestured wildly as he spoke. The aura of malevolence that poured from that demonic being felt as though it could damage his soul. His voice was _painful_ to listen to.

“ _Withdraw from the fields, my brothers. Some battles can only be won with words._ _"_ The demon lord finished with a sickly smile, eyes glittering blue in his skull-like visage.

With the recession of irrational fear and the return of the Demon Hunter's wits, came the sudden realization that what was down the hall was simply _not_ _possible_. Malthael had the stone. He would not be fool enough to release the evils housed within it, Jack was sure of it. Not if the renegade angel truly wanted the Eternal Conflict to end as he claimed. This had to be an illusion of some kind, or a memory.

“He's not real.” Jack breathed with a stuttered release of breath.

“Are you quite _certain_?” Lyndon asked skeptically, voice tight. “Sounds pretty real to _me_.” He had one hand over his left ear, wincing at the demon lord's voice, the other hand still firmly in the hunter's grasp.

“I-I think you are right, this is only a moment in time, frozen from years ago, replaying over and over again.” The enchantress whispered from his side. Kormac seemed stricken, his fist curling tight around the handle of his spear. With this affirmation, everyone calmed a little, and they cautioned another peek over the collapsed pillar they crouched behind.

This _shade_ of Mephisto was not alone.

“ _Enough of your idle_ speculation _, Mephisto!”_ Another voice argued brazenly, there was a childish cruelty about this voice that indicated a great capacity for sadism, and savage joy drawn from chaotic, destructive acts of violence. “ _I breached the fortress and saw it firsthand. The Worldstone is gone! The angels I killed knew nothing about it.”_

The beast came into view and Jack knew him from illustrations in Deckard Cain's book, Baal, The Lord of Destruction. He moved on spider-like legs that clicked against the stone delicately. Extravagant furs adorned his shoulders while serpentine tentacles moved freely, protruding from the back of his skull. To see the visions of the great lords of Hell in person, the ones that had merged with Diablo, made the threat of the Prime Evil's return all the more terrifying. He hoped desperately that the great demon lords would _never_ be free again.

When Malthael was dead and the Black Soulstone once more in their possession, he vowed he would find a better way to be rid of it once and for all. Perhaps even a way to destroy it.

“ _But since you are so..._ perceptive _, maybe you remember who else has been missing: Lilith. We must find her, rip her limb from limb, take the Worldstone back!"_ Baal spat angrily.

“This is just before Sanctuary was born.” Eirena whispered, voice filled with a wonder he would likely never feel. “The time the Eternal Conflict had been halted by the Worldstone's disappearance.”

A third being shimmered into view, and this one he was intimately familiar with: Diablo. But this time the great beast was different, more bulky, clumsier looking, almost iguana like in his appearance, but no less disturbing. There was no trace of Leah in this form, and for that he was pathetically grateful. The spines on its back protruded like swords, and curved, ram horns curled outward from its skull. If anything, it looked physically stronger than its two brothers, but he knew from first-hand experience that size did not dictate power.

“ _You are all deceived my brothers. A new age has already begun.”_ Diablo hissed smugly at its siblings, voice growling like an animal in the dark. _“Can you not sense them? Ugly creatures, born in shadow. They feel terror, hatred, and the desire to destroy. Yes. But they are not ours yet.”_

Though it was a shadow of the past, a scene from centuries ago, Jack could not help but feel a terrible resentment rise up within him for how little they meant to the hearts of both demons _and_ angels. Tools. Fodder. Entertainment. Nothing more. Tyrael was on their side, yes, and Auriel and Ithereal championed their cause, but there were few others who cared about the fate of humans other than humans themselves. The power of their birthright taken from them, left with him alone to fight for their existence while demons and angels could do whatever they wanted to Sanctuary's residents any time they pleased. Demons roamed unchecked through their world, destroying villages and lives. _Families_. And then the angels did _nothing_ for them in return. They prevented nothing and cared little. The frustration and anger he felt at the wrongness of it all was thick and heavy.

“ _They will open their world to us very soon. An invitation we cannot refuse.”_ Diablo finished darkly, the promise in his voice already long ago fulfilled.

“ _The time to return to Hell has arrived. The angels will be here soon. Come brothers, let us go home, there is much to plan.”_ Mephisto stated, creating a portal to Hell.

Then The Three were gone and all was quiet.

“Is... Is that it then? Where is the siege rune?” Kormac asked, confused.

“The time prison is here for a reason, let us wait and see.” Eirena answered.

For many long minutes, nothing happened. Lyndon sighed and made himself more comfortable, resting his head on the hunter's shoulder. Didn't Lyndon remember that they were supposed to be _hiding_ this? Well...come to think of it, they'd never actually _discussed_ any of it, they just happened to have been mutually discreet since the start. And even still, it was not unusual for Lyndon to lean on him, or breach his personal space in one way or another. He'd done it countless times before and no one had batted an eye, (at least not after the first few times) and no one seemed bothered now, though he was too embarrassed to chance looking at anyone so he didn't _really_ know. He'd grown used to Lyndon's carelessness with others personal space, and even started to accept it when their friendship had evolved. He really shouldn't have felt so odd now about such a familiar thing, but he couldn't help it. Everything had changed for the two of them and there was _no_ changing it back. (and Gods, did he even _want_ to?) The contact felt different than before, affected him in strange, unpredictable ways. He _wanted_ it more. Craved it even.

Jack thought perhaps he could be crushed beneath the weight of all the things he so selfishly wanted. An entire world depended on his ability to focus and complete this task and he was sitting here thinking only of himself. He honestly couldn't think of any time that would be _less_ opportune, save during the inevitable fight with Malthael, (but it was his private hope that Lyndon and everyone else would not even be present). And sometimes... if he thought about it, and he often did _not_ because it was too frightening and soul-crushing to think of, he thought that there was a possibility that Lyndon did not care for him other than a means to sate his bottomless lust. He did not completely believe this, as the thief had proven time and again that he was not only a caring person in general, but the best friend the Demon Hunter had ever had. But the occasional doubt and fear that it was too good to be true that anyone could ever care about someone like him still reared its ugly head at the worst of times.

Like now for instance.

Jack curse himself for being utterly ridiculous and drank another health potion. He tried to think about something _other_ than vomiting it all over the stone floor of a realm that had been here since the dawn of creation. He mused that there had likely been worse things spilt upon the ground of this war-torn world, soaked deep into the bone-silt, but that didn't mean he wanted to make a shameful mess of himself.

And even as the extra energy keeping him upright burned through his veins like a creeping forest fire, the thought of meeting the warm weight against him and sleeping for a thousand years was still a potent fantasy.

Thankfully, they did not have to wait for long.

A group of demons entered the boundaries of the prison, appearing like wayward spirits, they seemed to be fleeing from something. Soon after, angels crossed into the forcefield and a quick skirmish ensued. One demon, a small, claw-toed, armored creature ran with something clutched protectively to it's chest. The siege rune, Jack guessed. The little demon hid behind a pile of rocks while its fellow soldiers were slain. One angel placed a strange device onto the floor and activated it before leaving with its companions. The device activated, creating the blue energy field, trapping the demon there alone with the corpses of the others.

After a few more minutes of silence the scene began again with the re-appearance of the Prime Evils and the same conversation as before.

“I believe it's safe to go in.” Jack said to his companions and they agreed.

They entered the forcefield, searching for the demon that held the siege rune, and found it crouched behind a rock. It had hidden itself thousands of years ago, and here it remained still. It's beady eyes were fixed directly on them, so it must have had some awareness of its surroundings for all that time...

“I will de-activate the machine now.” Eirena warned from the center of the room.

In an instant, the energy field was gone and the creature was freed. Instead of standing still for any length of time, or even _fleeing_ as Jack expected, it dropped the siege rune and charged them.

“ _Idle speculation! Idle speculation!_ ” The thing screamed over and over in a mantra of madness, frothing at the mouth. It only took a single shot through the skull to end its suffering. A lackluster end to an otherwise terrifying experience.

He thought on the angel's cruelty to implement such a device. He _hated_ demons, yes, but this kind of torture was beyond sadistic. Though he thought it may not have been because the angels took pleasure in causing madness to their foes, they very likely just did not give it any thought at all. He wondered which was worse.

“I wonder how many times that poor bastard heard that dreadful little conversation.” Lyndon mused, picking up the siege rune and examining the symbols that glittered upon its surface with great interest.

“More than any living thing could _possibly_ tolerate before descending into madness.” Kormac said with a frown.

At least it was over for the little demon now.

For them however, it was one more rune, and then death would come for Death.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Lyndon decided, within minutes of arrival, that he _hated_ Pandemonium.

It was desolate, dirty, depressing, and frightening. Traits, when so lavishly applied to a location such as this one, guaranteed that the whole experience would be complete and utter _slog_ . He wished he'd just polished off the bottle of ale Hansen had shared with him, a few shots were hardly enough to make it through _this_ mess.

That, and all the piles of armor were so decayed that they were basically worthless, just heaps of dusty metal. No treasure to find here then, just nausea inducing shadows of the great demon lords having a little chit chat in a ruin. And an endlessly regenerating supply of nasty bug things that lived in opaque, red crystal hives that wanted to eat them, and disgusting tentacled monsters that shot poison at them. Oh! And tiny little lizards- bats..? eugh, _whatever_ ! _Flying_ things that seemed to know them by their bloody _names_.

Was he forgetting anything? Ah, _right_ , horrible, large headed, crumbly rock monsters that tried to smash them to bits, like the ones they were fighting _now_ actually! Kormac rushed at the thing and struck it heavily with his great shield while Jack moved out of the way just in time to avoid getting his chest cavity caved in (he certainly didn't need a repeat of _that_ little incident) _Gods! Be careful!_ He thought with a sudden anxiety. A few well placed shots removed the protective rock armor of the rock... _thing_ , revealing that these beasts were really just shriveled and pathetic looking creatures without their fancy outerwear. Not unlike some nobles he'd met in his travels, he felt a grin tease at the corners of his mouth. It was always gratifying to knock a fat, smug, wealthy _bastard_ off his high-horse ( _literally_ !) and then rob the blubbering twat of just about _everything_ , including the oh-so-expensive clothes on his back. He felt a little pang of regret as the comfortable, and decadent silk shirt he had nicked from that _particular_ prissy toff, had been dirtied and ripped and singed beyond repair during his more recent jaunts around the world with his favored hunter of demons.

The last time he saw it, his once lovely tunic was being used as a cleaning rag for Haedrig's damned forge. Eventually, he'd replaced it through his usual way (borrowing) but he was pretty sure the Demon Hunter was still wearing the newer one. Considering Jack's usual track record of destroying his _own_ clothing through various means, Lyndon had a pretty good idea how _this_ would end for his poor garment.

 _Sigh_. Well he could always get another couldn't he? There was likely a nice, big noble mansion sitting deliciously un-looted somewhere in Westmarch. Mmm! Drawers filled with silver, golden candelabras, valuable relics, and priceless artworks on every wall! Lyndon let that lovely thought bounce around his brain for a few moments. With all these distractions to keep his head busy, he was doing a rather brilliant job of not thinking about Edlin!

...Damn, and he'd been doing so _well_.

He swallowed thickly and his eyes darted around for an immediate distraction and quickly locked on his favorite. He watched Jack, hood fallen back from his head as he thrust his blade through the chest of some nasty Pandemonium beastie with quick, precise movements, and then turned to his left, sending a slight flick of sweat off the tips of his whipping mess of black hair. How _did_ he get those tight pants on over that spec _tacular_ arse of his? Another one of life's great mysteries that he would add to his mental list which included: why was that bone in your arm called a ' _funny_ ' bone? If you struck it by accident it hurt like a _bastard_ ! Nothing funny about it. Or why buildings were called buildings even after they'd been finished. Shouldn't they then be christened _builts_?

Lyndon dodged several boulder chunks that sailed over his head and then off the edge of Pandemonium proper. He should _probably_ pay a bit more attention before he up and died, or _far_ worse, was made to endure a lecture. He fired a few rounds into those wretched bug things, freezing the lot of them. He liked this enchanting thing, he never thought he'd be good at it. Despite Jack's temper, and Lyndon's general inability to focus on _anything_ , the Demon Hunter had been a patient and effective teacher.

At first Lyndon thought that perhaps Jack seemed to be moving slower because Lyndon was continuing to be decidedly unhelpful and _ogling_ him. Things were taking on a slow, dream-like haze while he fantasized about all the things he wanted to _do_ to him, but the longer he ogled, he realized that the Hunter actually _was_ moving slower than he normally did, and... he was sweating an awful lot wasn't he?

Ah, that's right. He's an exhausted bloody _wreck_ , how could Lyndon have forgotten?

Whatever was happening to the Demon Hunter that involved those smoky, fluffy black shadows and his burning eyes was more than a little concerning. Jack was steadily turning into a barely functioning mess of a person. The thief mused that if the hunter had not brought along his stupid health potions he would have likely keeled over long ago. It was a false, transitory source of energy that would only end up hurting the stubborn bastard in the long run. And Mephisto had _scared_ him. Badly. Lyndon had never seen such fear in the Demon Hunter's eyes except for the times he had awoken from his wretched dreams. Something about Mephisto haunted him. Perhaps they were too close in nature, what with all the _hating_. Lyndon filed this observation away for later contemplation when he had need of another distraction to keep him from his bro-

 _Shit!_ He needed a drink. Ten drinks.

The scoundrel prayed that they were not long for Malthael. Jack would not last much longer storming ahead like some clockwork killing machine. Damn it all, he'd _arrived_ in Westmarch overtired with his brains in a muddle! What was he now? A bloody _wreck_ that's what!

Very immediately, all thoughts of Jack's problems and Lyndon's barely formed feelings about them, were neatly wiped from his mind when something enormous rumbled beneath their feet, shook its way free from layers of dust and stone and _bellowed_.

“ _Get back_! _Get back_!” Jack was shouting at them, and they scrambled to move behind him and out of the way of the great beast's heavy footfalls. How had it hidden itself so deeply in the ground? Did it form as it rose up? The thing seemed to be made of solid rock or bone, with bursts of golden light peering through the cracks of the haphazardly strewn plates of its carapace. There were twin spires that jutted from it's back like horns, and as it roared, Lyndon watched in amazement as light formed between those horns, then exploded to life in an orb of yellow and black, shifting like spilled, liquid fire into a familiar oval shape.

“Lysa! I can hear her voice again!” Eirena exclaimed with a desperation he had never heard in her voice before. Frankly, it concerned him, and he was not the only one: Kormac nearly went arse over tit as he whipped his head back to look at her.

Jack was loosing arrow after arrow into the thick hide of that beast while they all tried to assist in their usual ways, keeping behind him as he'd asked. Kormac, without any ranged abilities to speak of, merely floundered and hovered about Eirena in an overprotective manner while she shot bolts of arcane magic conjured in her palms. The beast reared up dangerously on its hind legs like an enraged stallion, and while it balanced precariously in the sky, Lyndon and Jack emptied half their quivers into the gut of that awful thing, then the four of them scattered to the sides as the monster brought its great feet down in a terrible blow, sending a heavy shock-wave through the ground and cratering the stone.

The Demon Hunter was up first, and snarled, resuming his assault of enchanted bolts, grenades and stroppy disposition. But the giant thing had harmed itself by smashing its big legs into the ground more than it had harmed them. The shock of impact had caused deep cracks to form in its body and great pieces of the beast had started to crumble off.

All in all, it died pretty fast for being such a _big_ bastard. If Jack were not here, this _probably_ would not have been the case. And if Lyndon had been alone, he would have just run from everything anyway! The beast fell heavily on its side, hemorrhaging great bursts of molten light from its ruined torso. The blood darkened when it touched the grey surface of Pandemonium, the golden light fading to a dull Payne’s grey just like the rest of this wretched world.

Jack watched it die with a controlled expression of regret, he had always hated to kill animals (at least Lyndon _thought_ this might have been an animal). Lyndon gave him water, hoping to delay the use of another health potion, and tried to ignore the way the hunter panted like he was having trouble catching his breath. At this rate he'd be _carrying_ the poor sod out of here, but Lyndon was not sure he would have the strength or the energy to do so.

Well, if they _died_ he wouldn't have to worry about it then would he?

Atop the beast's back, the light between the protruding horns still burned brightly and Eirena was positively _transfixed_ by it.

“That is a portal to a banished realm! And I think... I think that I might find Lysa on the other side!” The little enchantress insisted, her sweet eyes large with anxiety in her pretty face.

“Eirena?” Kormac asked hesitantly, looking more useless than Lyndon felt.

“It was extremely difficult for us to get here, how could your sister Lysa?” Jack asked, catching his breath.

“The Prophet was a Seraph. He may have hidden in Pandemonium to keep his affairs secret from the Angiris Council.” Eirena theorized.

Hold on. A seraph? _Sisters_ ? At first, Lyndon was a bit confused, then he remembered that Eirena had been part of a sisterhood of some sort (he'd forgotten about it as soon as Eirena had said they had pledged themselves to some Prophet, therefore becoming _unavailable_ to him) and had apparently been hearing the voice of one of her dead sisters, this _Lysa_ , through her odd, shimmery focus mirror thing (or so Jack had mentioned to him after their little jaunt in the woods). Lyndon had looked at that mirror more than once, finding it rather _pretty_ , but had never heard any ghostly voices or whatnot through it. That mirror was also utter rubbish to shave by, too sparkly and glowy, he could hardly see his damned _face_ in it.

And gods, would the dead _ever_ stop coming back to life? It had been years since the last Night of Souls, but lately it seemed like ghosts and shuffling corpses were the new _normal_ for their world. Malthael'd really mucked things up for everyone. Rotten bastard.

He had a sudden thought so nightmarish, so _devastating_ , that he threw it away the moment it came to him lest he go mad from the possibility: _Gods, please don't let Edlin come back and haunt me. Please don't let him, please, I can't-_

“Do you believe that the Prophet had the power to summon her to him across realms?” Jack asked seriously, and Lyndon latched onto his voice, anything to think about something else.

Eirena seemed to consider this and looked back at the portal, biting her lip a little. “I saw her broken body.” She finally said, voice sad. “But the Prophet's magic is powerful, he saved us all once, he could have saved Lysa again.” She reasoned.

“Do we... do we even have _time_ to go in there and find her? How would we ever get out again?” Kormac asked skeptically, eying the bizarre looking portal. And indeed Lyndon wondered the very same thing.

“I thought that when one entered a banished realm... the point was that they would not ever be able to come out again. Hence _banished_.” The scoundrel drawled with a hint of trepidation, aiming a swift kick at the crumbled leg of the great monster, scattering some of it's rocky hide into an ashy powder. He fervently hoped that he would be able to wash this stupid, raining dust out of his hair later.

“Eirena? Can you hear Lysa now?” Jack asked her softly.

She nodded. “We... we do not have _time_. Thousands die every moment, we must go on ahead...” She trailed off, then stared determinedly at the ground.

Kormac seemed flustered, as though there was something he _desperately_ wanted to do, but tried to keep himself as still as he could. He fidgeted with the ends of his tabard in distracted frustration and puffed his cheeks out. Lyndon glanced at the Demon Hunter, frowning, and was struck by the warring emotions on the man's face. He appeared horribly stricken by indecision for perhaps the first time since Lyndon had known him. Jack had always been the best at figuring out how they should go about doing something: tactics, direction, prediction, preparation, and sometimes even theories. He was the best out of _all_ of them, and that was only _part_ of the reason why he was their unofficial leader. But for this, he did not seem to know what to do at all.

After a few precious moments of internal conflict, Jack seemed to come to some sort of decision and spoke again: “Eirena. You and I will go through the portal to find your sister, and Lyndon and Kormac will get the last siege rune.” He declared with great calm.

They all attempted to argue at once:

“Now _hold_ on-”

“What? But-”

“We _can't_ -”

“Enough. Eirena I will not forgive myself if you miss this chance to find the answers you seek.” The enchantress didn't say anything, but seemed decidedly relieved that she would not have to leave this behind.

“But....” Lyndon floundered, trying to come up with a reasonable argument that didn't start with a decidedly selfish ' _I don't like him_ ', or a more troublesome, ' _I don't want you to go in there without me_.'

“Can't we just... do both... _together_?” He pleaded feebly, feeling stupid.

“And uhm.” Kormac cut in, clearing his throat. “Why can't _I_ accompany Eirena?” He asked weakly, turning an amusing shade of red.

“We ran out of time long ago. Lyndon...” He began tiredly, “I need you on my side for this.” He said softly, a slight begging tone to his voice that made the scoundrel feel _awful_ but even still, he couldn't help but feel upset.

“And I need you on mine!” He snapped unthinkingly, and regretted it immediately at the expression of pain that crossed the taller man's features. Jack wrung his hands in an uncharacteristic expression of anxiety.

“I _am_ on your side.” He finally said. “We're all on the _same_ side. At least we're _supposed_ to be.” He said pointedly, directing a tired glare at Lyndon and Kormac. “I don't know why you two are so cross with each other, but you had better figure it out _now_ or leave it behind. We do not have the luxury of time.” The Demon Hunter unknowingly regurgitated Imperius' words back at them. Though perhaps he did know, because he scowled rather crossly immediately after saying it.

“I'm confident you can handle this, another time prison and a few Pandemonium natives should be no trouble for the both of you.” Jack argued reasonably. “We don't know what will happen through that portal, _I_ must go with Eirena. This could be her only chance.”

“ _Fine_ then.” Lyndon conceded, but unable to shake the feeling that this was going to be a terrible mistake. Kormac merely grunted and looked away, face twisted into an expression of extreme displeasure.

“But...” Eirena mumbled, likely guilty that everyone was upset because of her.

“Eirena, I _promised_.” Jack insisted. So that's what this was then. A promise he was afraid to _break_. Jack was going to crush himself beneath all the self-destructive promises he's made, especially if he failed to fulfill them. This was why Lyndon never promised _anything_. The guilt that came with failure was more than he could live with.

But he _had_ promised something... hadn't he...?

Lyndon and Kormac watched them disappear through the portal, shouting their 'be careful's and their 'good luck's, then stood there staring at where Jack and Eirena had been standing.

“They can get out... with that portal necklace Eirena has... right?” Kormac asked him, tone begging that he provide a satisfactory answer. How the Hell should _Lyndon_ know? He was the last person to ask about that sort of thing. He had no bleeding idea how any of this was supposed to work. None at all.

And yet, he was the only person here for Kormac to ask wasn't he?

“I'm sure they'll be fine.” He answered quickly, though he didn't feel confident at all. What if they _never_ got out? What if this was the last time they saw them, and then everything went to Hell in their absence? Lyndon supposed... that if they were all dead _anyway_... he wouldn't have to wait very long to see them again. The tightness in his chest momentarily made it difficult to breathe, but he sighed and turned to Kormac:

“Come along then _Templar._ I suppose the siege rune won't do us the courtesy of looting its damned _self_.” He muttered with an air of practiced boredom. Kormac sighed as well, “I suppose not.” and together they wandered in the direction they had been heading in before the portal beast had so rudely interrupted them.

At least, just this once, they both had one thing in common: they were both _horribly_ concerned for a very specific person who had gone through that wretched portal, more-so than anyone else on the entire ball (or... plate? Was it flat? He wasn't really sure on that one...) of dirt they called home.

 


	18. Kaleidoscope and Candle Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, been a busy couple of weeks. :I (but yay broke a 100k words!)
> 
> Title is from a Rob Zombie song called 'Blood, Milk and Sky'
> 
> Guys, seriously, I love comments. Please comment. I don't bite.*
> 
> *unconfirmed.

_I see a vision_  
 _chew it with my teeth,_  
 _believe the dying_  
 _and minds that read._  
 _A change in season_  
 _your mind crawls black,_  
 _turning neurotic_  
 _a self attack._  
  
 _See the red,_  
 _all I know is_  
 _see the red,_  
 _watch it flow._  
— _Feast Your Eyes_ , Mastodon

 

 

The stones in his fingers had been worn smooth by the gently flowing current and his bare, muddy feet were washed clean in the water. Halissa grinned at him from the rock she perched on in the center of the river, mud on her face. In her smile he could see she was missing one of her baby teeth. Her elbows, and knees were filthy, there was a shallow scrape below her left kneecap where she had tripped over a tree root on the walk here. In three days time there would be no trace of the wound left.

He was fourteen then, and she, eight. In one month and twelve days from now -his memory so helpfully supplied- their mother and father would be slain horrifically before their eyes by Khazra, Fallen and any number of lesser demons that, had he been then what he was now, would have been felled by his bolts and blades like the squealing game they were. But he had been a boy then, and their village had burnt around them. He had taken Halissa and fled into the forest like the terrified rabbit he'd been, and there was not a day that went by that he did not wish it had been otherwise.

Seventeen days after their escape, his sister would awaken in the night and flee, driven by madness into the storm, and he would lose his grip on her at the rapids at the western end of this very river. After that, he would take her body back to town and bury her with what he could find of their parents (there hadn't been much, demons and vultures are gluttonous beasts). Wooden crosses would mark their graves, made well enough with what he had learned about carpentry from his father. Two days after their burial, this version of himself, the last survivor of the village of Talinn, would perish with the rest of them.

Then the Demon Hunters would come and resurrect him as someone else, and he would start again.

But for now, this was a happy memory of a better time, the last of the three he treasured. Oh there were others certainly, if he searched his heart for them, but these carefully chosen three of his family he locked away carefully so that nothing could ever sully them.

Halissa had begged Jack to take her to this river to find a very _specific_ aquatic creature. He was older now and he did not spend as much time with her as he used to. But even though he was often occupied with learning his father's trade, along with school and general chores and upkeep of their house, he still made time for his sister when he could, because he wanted to be a good brother. She looked up to him and was always interested in what he was doing. This irritated him at times, as all older siblings could become irritated by their younger counterparts, but he loved her. They never fought like some of the other children did with their siblings, and Jack had always found it strange that they could say they _hated_ their brother or sister. He could never wrap his mind around hating someone in your own family. So when Halissa had asked him to take her into the woods to the river to find the painted newts, she did not have to try very hard to get him to agree.

“Dad said that he had seen them here before, right?” Halissa asked him as she turned over stone after stone, digging her fingers into the mud.

“Yes, I've seen them here as well.” He startled when Halissa suddenly shrieked and yanked her hand back from the water. Jack watched a crayfish dart away and beneath another smooth rock, and he grinned, laughing at her.

“It's not _funny_!” Halissa huffed, and splashed him.

“It is!” He insisted, holding his hand up to deflect a meager wave of water.

“It was slimy!” She whined, still a little afraid.

“Don't you mean _crunchy_?” Jack mimed holding one in his fist, then pretended to take a bite out of it.

“ _Ewww_! Jack!” Halissa squealed, sending more water his way.

“Hey! I don't want the paper to get wet!” He shot back at her, shielding his new journal (a birthday gift from his mother) from the water. The cover was leather and was filled with many pages of sturdy paper. Jack particularly liked that the paper could hold ink and watercolors very well without warping the paper or leaking through to the other side. He'd never seen anything of its like in their small village, so he assumed his mother had picked it up for him when she had visited her family in Westmarch the previous spring.

He'd often wondered what had become of his other family members in the years after joining the Demon Hunters. They could have died, or perhaps moved somewhere else. He might never know.

“That red-haired girl won't like you if you're always so _gross_.” She teased playfully.

“Never you mind about her!” Jack retorted sharply, face turning a little pink. Halissa giggled and a knowing grin spread over her face. He scowled at her, “What about that boy at the school house? Will you show off your missing tooth?” Jack teased back and she yelped, covering her mouth, giving him a dirty look.

There was no more talk about either of their romantic interests, and Halissa would never find out that he had a watercolor portrait of Anna in his journal. After he had painted it, he had toyed with the idea of giving it to her, but wasn't sure if he should, or if he'd ever muster the guts to do so, so in his journal it stayed.

In one month and twelve days, it would no longer matter.

Jack carefully flipped over another stone and the newt gleaned out at him like an orange tourmaline, bright as the petals of tiger lilies, and blue spots dotted it like a sapphire night sky. He snatched it up with quick fingers, feeling it wriggle in his grasp. “I found one!” He said to his sister and she had splashed over to him to look wide-eyed as he had unfolded his hand to show her. She had been thrilled, and renewed her search to find one of her own.

While Halissa looked, he placed the newt he found in a jar with a little bit of river water and sand, and drew it several times with a thin charcoal pencil. When he created a drawing he was satisfied with, he added ink and watercolor, rinsing the brush clean in the river. Eventually, Halissa had shown him her own newt (larger than his) and admired his drawing.

They remained there, splashing in the water and finding newts and crayfish, until the sun had begun to hang low in the sky, and the boggits started calling for their children to come in for the night in strange noises that they couldn't understand. They released their catches, and lingered by the river a little longer, trying to see one of the boggits, but were unsuccessful as usual.

They had walked in twilight, hands clasped together as he led her back home. He had briefly entertained the idea of frightening her with a ghost story, or a tale of the bear men from the north, but decided against it. Instead, he told her about whip-poor-wills, owls, and nighthawks that were responsible for the majority of the sounds that scared her in the middle of the night.

But there were things that lived in the night far more terrible than gentle night birds. They would know soon enough.

It was strange to remember himself as a child. Messy black hair, and so young, he'd had a lot of hope then. Dreams. Aspirations. A future too. He had not been who he was now. It was a simple memory. A time in his life when he had been happy. Halissa would have been seventeen now. Sometimes he wondered what she would have looked like, how different she would have been as a young woman. Such thoughts were always painful, so he did not think them often. Jack likened he should have felt more upset at the memory, but it seemed muted somehow, like his feelings for it had numbed. It was probably better this way, one less distraction.

Jack could see his own reflection in the gem of Eirena's staff. Or, at least the person in the reflection was wearing the same things he was, and had dark hair like he did. Even though he _knew_ he was looking at himself, no matter how long he stared, or however he tilted his head or squinted his aching eyes, he could not recognize who it was he was looking at. The reflection skittered across the cut crystal when Eirena moved, fragmenting the image of a black clad, flame-eyed beast into pieces.

He wondered if there was something wrong with him, if he had gotten _sick_ somehow after pushing himself for so long and was having trouble thinking because of it. Surely that man in the reflection couldn't be _him_?

“Jack?”

Halis- No. Eirena. Memories and reality were slurring together again. He blinked and looked at her.

“You were just standing there so still. Are you well?” The enchantress asked him cautiously. The note of concern in her voice made him feel guilty. They were here for _her_ , and he shouldn't be thinking of his own sister while they were searching for Eirena's. They were not blood related no, but he knew the importance of such a bond and the pain that could be caused by its severance. He needed to keep his wits about him in this place. Wherever this was.

And innocent people still died every moment.

Jack wondered if Lyndon and Kormac were alright (and if they were _fighting_...), and if he had made a mistake by splitting up their group. He hoped that Eirena's amulet would be enough to get them out of here when they were done.

“Sorry, I'm fine. Let's go.”

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Perhaps _this_ is what Myriam had meant by a “hard choice.” Here Lyndon was, forced to suffer Kormac's dreary company in this dumpy, grey wasteland, instead of having insisted to accompany Jack and Eirena into some faraway realm. Really, he would much prefer being banished over having to listen to Kormac stumble over his words like a drunk attempting a staircase.

Maybe being tired was making him more irritable than usual. It was very likely.

“Lyndon... a-are you listening?” Kormac asked after a brief, blessed silence.

“No.” He answered flatly.

“I'm trying to apologize!” The Templar wailed pleadingly.

The scoundrel sighed, and put a bolt through another one of those awful bug things. He supposed he should be grateful that killing things here was easy enough to even _allow_ for abhorrent conversation, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

“I can almost hear the gears seizing up in that heavy skull of yours, they must be horridly rusty. I think I can see your hair smoking.” The thief drawled.

“I'm not _stupid!_ I just uhm... I just like to _think_ about things before I say them.” Kormac said awkwardly, scraping the corpse of a bug-spider-thing off his spear with the toe end of his considerably-less-shiny-than-a-few-days-ago boot.

“Ooo! A _deep thinker_ , hm? You're what we in the _business_ refer to as 'easy pickings'.” Lyndon remarked dryly, feeling rather vindictive, and decidedly _not_ in the mood to entertain any sort of piss-poor apologies Kormac might dredge up. The bastard probably wasn't even _sorry._ Not that Lyndon cared of course. And honestly, he was tired and just wanted this whole horrid mess over and done with so he could soothe himself to sleep with a bottle or three of ale.

“Thievery is _not_ a... _business_!” Kormac bellowed insistently. Lyndon wondered what it was like to go through life being so naïve. Really, that jelly-brained Templar was so damned ignorant he should have been grinning from ear to ear instead of moping around all day, wasn't ignorance supposed to be _bliss_?

“The Thieves Guild in Kingsport, might disagree with you.” That statement immediately conjured a miserable thought, which wasn't new, Akarat knew he'd been having quite a lot of them lately. “...I wonder how Kingsport is fairing right now.” He muttered, then regretted having spoken without thinking. His life and problems weren't Kormac's damned, bloody business.

That seemed to shut the Templar up for a little while so perhaps it wasn't _all_ bad. The larger man even managed to look somewhat apologetic. Whatever. He didn't care. He didn't need Kormac's sympathy. They killed their way... well, _north,_ Lyndon supposed. Whatever wretched direction they had been going in before the portal beast had so rudely interrupted their meager progress. It didn't matter, he was just going to tune everything out as best he could and focus only on killing whatever came across their path. He was beginning to see what Jack saw in the endless slaughter, it made for a rather marvelous distraction.

“I just _don't_ understand why he would...” Kormac began again, his voice sounded loud in the heavy quiet of the grey wasteland. But it was likely because Kormac didn't know how to whisper. “I just don't know what he _sees_ in you.”

 _Twist the knife why don't you._ “Well that's rude, what does Eirena see in you then? Wait! Let me guess! Is it _nothing_?” Lyndon hissed poisonously, taking a rotten sort of pleasure in the way Kormac's cheeks and ears flushed red with anger and embarrassment.

“Shut up! That's not what I meant!”

“What _did_ you mean then? _Pray_ enlighten me. Did you mean to clarify that there was nothing about me that was worthy of affection? Just to be absolutely certain I understood you?” Lyndon grit through his teeth, he hoped the tone of his voice was angry enough to disguise just how much the Templar's words had hurt. He used to have thicker skin than this, he didn't know why every insult was a wound that bled him, he shouldn't even have cared at all.

“No! _No_! Damn it all!” Kormac sputtered. “I meant... I meant... that you're both so _different_ , what I-I _meant_ is.. that Jack is... a uhm, _complicated_ person.”

Gods, he'd had just about enough of this. “So, in your eyes, it's wrong and I'm worthless because he's _complicated_? That doesn't even make _sense_ , are you some kind of moron?” Lyndon fumed. He needn't have even asked that question. Of _course_ Kormac was a bloody moron.

“No! I-I meant that-”

“You _meant_ , you _meant_ , frankly I don't give a tinker's damn what you _“meant,”_ you accused me outright, in front of _everyone_ , that I was taking advantage of him as though he meant _nothing_ to me and that I was little more than a snake in the grass, but let me tell _you_ something Kormac-” And he pointed an accusing finger at the Templar. “You don't have even the _slightest_ idea of what it's like to not have anyone care about you! The only person who ever cared about me is _dead_ , do you _understand_ that? Is that _getting through_ alright?” And Lyndon was positively _yelling_ now, but he didn't care one jot, there was nothing but monsters and centuries old corpses to hear them anyway. He didn't think he could have felt angrier, or worse about himself than he already did, but leave it to good ol' Kormac to prove him wrong.

To his credit, at least Kormac didn't look happy about any of it, quite the opposite actually. Good. Lyndon hoped he felt right _sick_ over it, then at least they'd be on the same wretched level.

“But _Jack_... he's the first person who's ever truly given half a good Gods bloody _damn_ about me and-” He grit his teeth, “For _you_ to tell me... to even _suggest_ that I would _even_...” He swallowed and took a breath, clenching his fingers on the smooth handle of his crossbow so tightly he could have sworn he could hear the wood creaking.

Kormac just stood there staring at him, even as more monsters came, he didn't seem to know what to say, but that wasn't anything new was it? Lyndon put a bolt through the neck of a nearby tentacled, poison beast thing, then another through it's fat head. It felt good to kill it, so he killed a few more. Kormac seemed to try to help, but Lyndon wasn't through being angry and rounded on him again as soon as the way was clear once more.

“Not remembering your perfect life before your _stupid_ bloody order. A couple days of torture and _poof_ , it's all _gone_! You don't even know how _good_ you had it!” He shouted. “I was so envious that you didn't remember your past because I desperately wanted to forget _mine_!” And that was it wasn't it? Kormac got to live without shame, devoted fully to what he believed in (even though it was a lie) and confident about every move he made in his life, while Lyndon wallowed in Hell-on-Sanctuary, not knowing how to fix anything and stumbling through mistake after awful mistake, then ran from all of it like a useless coward.

“I wanted to forget that I didn't have _anything_ , forget every horrible thing I'd ever done! If I'd just _forgotten_ it all than it wouldn't have _hurt_ so damned much! And you still think you bloody know _everything_! I _HATE_ you!” He roared, voice cracking just slightly. Then he went silent, panting while Kormac just gaped at him in shock.

_Oh bollocks, did he say all of that out loud?_

Lyndon's throat tightened and there in that endless, dead expanse he felt suddenly trapped, cornered, and humiliated. He couldn't _believe_ he'd said that. But didn't _that_ just put things into perspective though? How _pathetic_ he was, clinging to the Demon Hunter to not feel so bloody alone, and _Gods_ , he'd never wanted Jack here so badly. Maybe he _was_ taking advantage of him. They were both lonely, miserable wretches. What a _delightful_ couple they made. He felt ashamed of himself, and the depression came back ten-fold. He found himself blinking back tears, but he would be _damned_ if he was going to cry in front of stupid _Kormac._ He'd sooner leap right off the crumbling edge of this shit-heap of a world. After the orphanage, he'd promised himself he'd never let anything make him cry again, but he'd already broken that promise more times than he was willing to recall. Those rotten kids from the orphanage were right. He _was_ a silly little cry-baby.

Lyndon was just tired of _everything_. He fervently wondered how much alcohol he would need to drink in order for it to kill him. Maybe he was dead already and just hadn't realized it yet, and wandering miserably around a grey desert with nothing but Kormac and monsters for company was his punishment.

After that, they traveled in silence for almost an hour. Kormac's face was pink and he gnawed on his bottom lip, apparently in thought. At least that was what he was doing when Lyndon last happened to glance at him. He tried not to look, he was too busy feeling miserable. They walked by row after row of impaled angelic corpses and lifeless, rock-like bodies of long dead demons larger than houses. He hated it here. His anger had cooled significantly, he could never keep that emotion up for very long anyway, but the self loathing was far worse, he almost preferred the rage.

He was certain now that he finally knew what Jack felt like a lot of the time. Hate and anger were far better than... _this_.

After more skirmishes with the local nasties, more aimless wandering and Kormac glancing at him every few seconds as though he _desperately_ wished to say something, they seemed to be getting closer to where they were supposed to be. There was a dome of blue light ahead that matched the forcefield in the ruins. Lyndon hoped that whatever was frozen in there wasn't going to be difficult to kill, at least he had some of Jack's enchanted arrows to make it easier, he'd been saving them for an emergency. Lyndon also wondered what it was like to have to think for an hour about what to say. The Templar's brain practically moved at a snail's pace while Lyndon's was firing _all the time,_ flitting from subject to subject faster than even he could keep up with at times.

Kormac seemed to come to some sort of decision and turned to Lyndon determinedly. “You really... _care_ about him?” He asked quietly.

“Is that so difficult for you to comprehend?” Lyndon responded tiredly and without any trace of anger. He didn't really want to talk about it anymore.

“Honestly, _yes_.”

Lyndon scoffed and kicked a rock. “You don't like _me_ , and I don't like _you_ , there's nothing to be done about it, so let's just drop it and get this over with so we can go back to not having anything to do with each other.” He muttered, almost begging the other man to leave it. He was too tired to argue and he didn't want to think about anything anymore, but even still as he tried to just think about nothing he could only think of the Demon Hunter. He'd never wanted anyone so badly, except for perhaps Rea. Gods what was _wrong_ with him? Why couldn't he stop thinking of her? When would he stop feeling sick over his love for her? Would he ever stop _torturing_ himself over her?

Likely not.

“Lyndon... I'm... I'm the one... who was _envious_.” The Templar spluttered awkwardly. “That's why I... got _angry_... before.”

Lyndon blinked. Well. _That_ gave him pause.

“...Jealous? Of _me_?” He asked in disbelief. Kormac had been putting down every aspect of his character since they day they'd met. He'd made it well clear that there was nothing about Lyndon that was to be envied.

“It has always been so _easy_ for you to talk to other women, _Eirena_ , people in general. And I just... well, I _can't_... And I thought...you were so good at talking people into things that I thought that Eirena was starting to like _you_ a lot more than _me_...and I was afraid, and thought even Jack... _I don't know_.” Kormac floundered, embarrassed, and pulling on the edge of his tabard like a child.

So that was it. Eirena had been a lot nicer to Lyndon lately, and he'd been talking to her more, Kormac felt threatened. Really he shouldn't have, she was like a sister to him. The scoundrel heaved a sigh, of all the ridiculous... “I'm not a bloody _wizard._ I can't just _trick_ people into liking me.” Well, he actually did just that all the time didn't he? Though it was by pretending to be someone he _wasn't_. “Do you know that Jack is a lot like you? He doesn't have a lot of confidence.” Lyndon added.

“But he's always so _sure_ of everything!” Kormac argued, surprised.

“Not of things like this. Not of... _me_.” Lyndon admitted, voice low. “But he tries. _Everyone_ gets tired of being alone at some point, if I didn't care... I wouldn't be trying too.” He finished awkwardly. Kormac was the very last person he ever thought he'd be having this conversation with, but... it felt good to tell someone, and it was a bit of a relief that he wasn't hiding it from the Templar anymore. He did not need the weight of any more secrets.

“Yes...I think... I _always_ knew that. Th-that you _cared_.” Kormac fumbled, “Eirena sees me as a fellow adventurer and nothing more. I was envious. I-I didn't _think_.”

Lyndon heaved a shaky breath and nodded in acknowledgment of what was said, he hadn’t felt this awful since... hm. But they hadn't gotten into a fist fight yet so there was that.

Before either of them could get the bollocks to apologize, they had reached the second time prison... thing. There was a large winged demon frozen still, but watching them. It had a siege rune clutched in one meaty claw. They'd found the right place then. Lyndon didn't think this demon would go down quite as easily as the smaller one Jack had killed earlier, so he loaded his crossbow with one of the few lightning arrows he'd managed to perfect and aimed at the beast's head, while Kormac went to deactivate the device that held it prisoner. There were some other creatures here too, some smaller demons...

...and _angels_ among them!

How awful was it that they were stuck here too? Didn't the other angels care about them? Lyndon was beginning to think that Jack was right. Angels _were_ just as bad as demons, albeit in a different way.

He wanted to go home. To Sanctuary.

“Ready?” Kormac asked, hand hovering over the winch or lever or whatever he would twist or prod to turn the damned thing off.

“As I'll _ever_ be.” He called back, eyes fixed on the demon with the siege rune. They glared at each other, each knowing how badly the other wanted them dead. It was a strange moment they shared. Lyndon offered it a perfect shit-eating-grin and it's pupils contracted with rage. Ha. He planned to send this particular arrow through its eye, then another through the other.

He hoped he would see Jack and Eirena soon after.

Kormac gave him the signal, turned off the device, and Lyndon opened fire.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

This realm of the banished that they'd found themselves in didn't seem to be all that different from Pandemonium, the landscape and color scheme were the same. Maybe this realm and Pandemonium were not as far away from each other as he had initially feared? They'd have an easier time of getting out if that were the case. It looked as though they were in some kind of cave, even though there was no real discernible ceiling. Their voices echoed as though there were cave walls to throw the sound, and rock formations rose around them like stalagmites. Deep crevices fell on either side of their path, and a pale blue light thrummed from within.

“I can hear Lysa's voice so clearly! We must find her!” Eirena called back to him anxiously.

“I still don't hear anything, should I be worried?” Jack asked, wondering if there was still something wrong with him, or worse, if there was something wrong with _her_.

“I would not. Remember, I sometimes see things that you do not.” The enchantress reminded him.

“Hm.” She did have a point.

As they moved ahead down the path, there were more of those spider creatures from before, further reassuring him that these places were indeed connected. They would get out of here yet.

He would make sure of that.

“I hope we can find her in time.” Eirena said, pain evident in her tone. It was something Jack had never heard before, and it concerned him. Eirena may have been a little strange, but she was always the most even-keeled out of all of them. It was something Jack had always liked about her and drew strength from, especially in the times when everyone else would falter. He had seen her cry for the first time when he'd made her stay behind with Kormac when he'd gone to slay Urzael. It had been _his_ fault, and he didn't want it to ever happen again.

He would keep his promise this time. _For her._

“We will, don't worry.” He assured her firmly.

“Is that...? But it _cannot_ be! _Sibyl_?” The enchantress exclaimed, and at first Jack wondered if she was seeing someone he could not, but then he saw her her too. The shimmering shade of a pale skinned girl with sandy hair. She was an ethereal blue, not unlike the light that came from deep within the gorges flanking them. She couldn't have been much older than Eirena, they were likely the same age.

Was this a vision of one of her sisters that had been murdered?

Eirena reached for Sibyl, perhaps without thinking, but her fingers passed through the other girl, and the spirit smiled sadly at that.

“It was to be a dreamless sleep...” Sibyl began, seemingly off in her own world, yet present at the same time. Just as Eirena often was. “But the blackness faded, and dreams I had. Dreams that became nightmares that I could not wake from.”

“Sibyl, I am _here_ now.” Eirena said in a bid to comfort the spirit, wounded by the girl's words.

Without warning, four demons fell from the not-ceiling and began to attack them. Jack sprung from behind the enchantress and quickly embedded his blade deep into the skull of the closest demon, the other three were ended quickly with a barrage of arrows and arcane missiles. Easy. A waste of their time.

The ghost (or whatever she was) of Sibyl seemed pleased with their victory. “The Prophet said that we would not dream, but I did.” She said, “They were dreams of color, unsettling, but then there were voices that called for me over and over. Then I woke.”

Eirena seemed confused and saddened by her story. It didn't explain the girl's death either, but neither of them were given enough time to ask for specifics.

“You were always the strongest, Eirena. Make us proud.” Sibyl said and smiled, before vanishing away.

“Wait! Do not go!” Eirena called, then closed her eyes in sorrow, holding her staff tightly in her small hands.

“Eirena?” Jack asked, uncertain.

“I'm alright... we must find Lysa, I hear her still.” Eirena answered, upset. Jack heard nothing, but decided he would not let it bother him. He allowed Eirena to lead, trusting her to find the right way while he protected her. It took a spectacular effort on his part to keep his mind on the task at hand, he was exhausted for one, and his skin positively itched with the knowledge that Lyndon was not here where he could keep an eye on him.

“The Prophet's magic is strong here.” Eirena whispered as they moved.

“He is here then? You said he was an angel, is his power so different from the others?” The Demon Hunter asked curiously.

“Very.”

The two of them continued on, traversing the rocky terrain. Up ahead there was another wisping spirit. Another of Eirena's sisters, Jack assumed. He tried hard not to think of his own lost sister.

“Raissa, it _is_ you!” Eirena addressed the girl, a stockier female with deep red hair and skin darker than Eirena's or Sibyl's. Eirena seemed a little happier, perhaps glad that even though they were dead, she was at least able to see them again. Say goodbye. What he wouldn't _give_ for the very same chance.

“When we woke, the demons were in our midst. We were not ready.” Raissa explained, “But you slept Eirena. Why?” The girl pleaded, begging an answer.

Eirena's face tightened in sadness, “I would have woken Raissa, you must believe me!” She begged. Eirena had slept and survived while her sisters had woken before her. Something about this seemed odd to Jack. He was beginning to think that it was more than coincidence that Eirena had stayed asleep, he suspected that the truth may be more sinister than either of them thought.

Again, demons came and attempted to kill them, “More demons, where are they coming from?” Eirena thought aloud. Jack didn't know and hardly cared, he assumed they would find out soon enough. All that mattered to him was killing them to get through this in once piece.

At least it was easy. He _needed_ it to be easy.

The demons had been slain, and Jack wiped sweat and stray drops of demon blood from his brow, feeling awful. Another health potion brought him back to speed, but he still felt slightly ill. They needed to hurry.

“The Prophet asked each of us in turn before he cast the spell of binding. Our lives, for yours Eirena. If we declined, we could leave without any thought of shame. We each heard the question and answered the only way we could. Our cause was too important to not make that sacrifice. You must find Lysa. It is not too late.” Sister Raissa said.

“Do not go! I have questions!” Eirena begged, but the spirit had already vanished.

With mounting confusion, they continued on.

“What is it that keeps my sister's spirits here? They should have long ago left the realm of the living.” Eirena wondered aloud, she sounded very sad. All of this a weight on her already heavy heart. He knew the feeling.

“Malthael likely.” Jack answered, “Or perhaps they are here trying to help you.”

“I hope so, I do not wish for them to share the fate of so many others slain by Malthael's reapers.”

“He will die for it, and they will be set free.” Jack answered. He wasn't sure who he was trying to convince, her or himself. The task still loomed ahead of him and he was not even remotely close to being in his best condition.

“Melaina!” Eirena shouted, as they came upon yet another spirit of Eirena's sisterhood, pale with brown hair and delicate features. At least things were moving quickly. He hoped it was going equally well for Lyndon and Kormac.

He refused to think of the alternative.

“It is good to see you Eirena, I thought I would never gaze upon your face again.” Melaina said, smiling, "But the demons surround Lysa! You must find her Eirena!” Melaina's spirit warned them.

“Can you tell me where she is?” Eirena asked, but just then, more of the demons came, but this time, he seemed to only blink before they were all dead. Felled by bolts he did not remember firing. Another health potion cleared the fog and coated his tongue in a flavor he could no longer taste.

“We trained, believing that we would fight together, but it was you Eirena, who had been chosen.” Melaina explained. All of the sisters seemed to get right to the point. They knew they were here on borrowed time. “We were the ones... who must be sacrificed to support you.” At Melaina's words, Eirena's face drained of color and her eyes filled with tears. Jack placed a careful hand on her shoulder but did not speak.

“Why you but not me? I asked myself. It was a selfish question, because I knew that if you had been asked, you would have said yes, so I did.” Melaina finished, a sad smile on her pretty face. Eirena nodded and looked down at the ground, blinking her tears away.

“It was good to see you again as well, farewell... my sister... and thank you.” Eirena said sadly as Melaina too, vanished into the ether.

A portal appeared in her place. They hesitated only a moment, looking at each other, before stepping through it.

 

 


	19. Fulcrum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lyndon is the only one who fully appreciates just how insanely dangerous it is to stand on top of a battering ram while it is moving.

_I wish the night would end,  
I wish the day'd begin,  
I wish it would rain or snow,  
or the wind would blow,  
or the grass would grow,  
I wish I had yesterday,  
I wish there were games to play..._  
― V.C. Andrews, _Flowers in the Attic_

 

 

“Finally! _This,_ is interesting!” Kormac heard Lyndon's delighted yell when the first arrow he'd fired missed its target.

Despite their awful fight that had given Templar an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach, they were both at least still able to separate business from- well... there hadn't been anything pleasurable about that argument _at all_ had there?

To avoid being grabbed up in the demon's massive claws, Lyndon had thrown some sort of flash powder into the ground so he could make his quick escape behind a puff of smoke and bright, flashing light that left colored spots in the Templar's vision. Kormac had seen him use the powder countless times, and always thought it a bit _dishonorable_ of him to flee the situation at hand, even if it were only for a moment.

But now, he'd come to realize that the thief was just using whatever skills he had at his disposal to keep himself alive and in one piece. And for all Lyndon's presumed laziness and cowardice, he had yet to _truly_ run from anything that stood in their path, and... that seemed pretty honorable to Kormac.

From the first day he'd met him, Kormac had not liked Lyndon at all. He didn't like his thieving, rat-like demeanor, he didn't like his crooked smile, he didn't like his inordinate narcissism, he didn't like how he disrespected the Demon Hunter, and he _especially_ didn't like how he treated women... _Or_ how he treated Kormac himself, by the Light he'd never been teased so much in all his _life_ and _-_

There was an unholy roar of fury from the large winged abomination at the thief's sudden disappearance.

Oh. That. Demons. Yes. Kormac should be helping.

He hacked at the smaller, horned creatures that approached him, then charged forward as fast as he could, knocking the massive beast back with his shield, stunning it. He used those extra precious seconds to impale a few of the lesser demons that had started to surround them. Lyndon did not seem to be anywhere in sight, just a plume of grey smoke billowed from where he'd last been standing. _That scoundrel!_ The great demon shook itself of its disorientation and roared again, dropping the siege rune on the ground carelessly and curling its massive, clawed digits around the hilt of a discarded mace, hefting the immense weapon up as easily as if it had been a sapling branch.

For being frozen in time for thousands of years it seemed _remarkably_ coherent.

And angry. Couldn't forget angry.

The Templar moved backwards, using his shield to ward off the monster's great blows with the mace, the impact of each strike sending a heavy tremor through the bones in his arm. He noticed Lyndon in his peripheral vision some yards away, _behind_ him actually, picking the smaller demons off with precise shots from his heavy crossbow. He'd been watching Kormac's back the entire time he'd been out of sight. Huh. He hadn't expected that. Kormac had never _actually_ fought with only Lyndon with him before. Usually they were all together as backup for Jack, or he was with Eirena.

The Templar forced the great demon back with an almighty shove and impaled it through the thigh with his spear, the blessed weapon sizzled on contact, and the stench of burning demonflesh filled his nostrils.

_Light be praised!_

The scoundrel was so quick with his heavy weapon that most of the lesser demons were dead within moments. They were disorganized, delirious from their long imprisonment. Likely maddened by boredom. Did they get hungry? Did they thirst? Kormac had no love for any enemy of the Light, but even he found their extended torture unsettling. Caused by the _angels_ to boot. The very knowledge that angels had done something so needlessly cruel muddled his thoughts like murky water. Lyndon kicked another demon out of the way, then ended it with a sparkling lightning arrow through the skull, blowing off a sizable chunk of its small, horned head. Kormac blocked another vicious blow from the arching mace and opened his mouth to yell to Lyndon about the siege rune laying there in the dust, but the thief had already closed quick fingers around it and the rune disappeared into one of his many pockets.

Lyndon's attention eventually shifted to him, then the large demon he wrestled with- _about time!_ \- and the scoundrel tilted his head a little to one side, as though deciding what to do _next_ , expression utterly placid.

All well and good, but Kormac hoped he'd decide soon, he could use a little _assistance_.

The Templar could feel burst of hot, rancid breath puffing over his face as the demon leaned closer and closer, even as the spear went deeper and deeper into the beast. The wretched thing didn't even seem to _care_ . Drool slipped out of its mouth and oozed over his neck. Surely he wouldn't... _surely_ Lyndon did hate him so much as to... If he was trying to get the Templar to _sweat_ a little then he'd already achieved that some minutes ago. _Light above, what was Lyndon waiting for?!_ Kormac grit his teeth and readied himself for any pain that was to come and vowed to at the _very_ least take this wretched son of Hell down with him and-

A writhing black arrow pierced the cheek of the great demon, and shadows erupted from the wound like a quickening fire, and darkness filled the demon's mouth, but not enough to muffle the shriek of agony as twenty more smoking bolts turned the demon's head into an overly large, steaming pincushion. The demon teetered dangerously and fell backwards, pulling free of his spear, then lay dead on its back.

Jack's arrows again? Wasn't Lyndon supposed to _not_ be using them? Not that he was complaining mind you.

“You couldn't have fired _any_ sooner?” Kormac asked irritably between pants as the scoundrel approached, he could still feel that breath on his face and he was fairly certain some drool had slipped under the collar of his tunic, making the fabric uncomfortably moist.

“You're fine.” Lyndon answered absently, removing the rune from his pocket and peering at it. “To the ram then?”

“Oh, uhm, _yes_.” Kormac mumbled, and Lyndon pushed past him, heading in the direction of the massive ram at the gates of the Pandemonium Fortress. Where they would hopefully find Eirena and Jack. _Eirena_. He hoped she was alright. She was probably fine, she was with _Jack_ after all. The scoundrel honestly seemed a bit put out after the fight was all over. He didn't talk anymore, he simply went back to ignoring him, idly gazing at the siege rune he held, then out into the distance. Kormac wasn't sure if he preferred the arguing to this... _quiet_.

Quiet always made his head fill up with too many thoughts. Lyndon had confessed envy for Kormac's memory loss, something that had haunted the Templar for years, and continued to haunt him even still the moment his memories had been restored to him. How could the thief envy such a _terrible_ thing? And then he'd said he _hated_ him. Surely he didn't... did he really _hate_ him? Kormac felt bad and wanted to apologize, but he hadn't been able to get the chance (or the courage). Really, he felt a little _hurt_. No one had ever said they'd hated him before.

And, and this... _relationship_ with Jack was odd. _Unnatural_. Perhaps even blasphemous in the eyes of the Light. Such “friendships” were condemned, at least they had been in the Order. But then again, so had any other form of intimate affection.

...If that _was_ what they were doing. He felt his face turn a little pink and he hoped Lyndon would not look back at him. The thief didn't.

He thought maybe they'd mended things at the end, but Lyndon still did not much speak to him, only when it was necessary. Light... he didn't know _what_ to think, mostly he just felt... yes, _bad_.

And there was still _so much_ left to do.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

When they arrived on the other side of the portal, everything was about the same as the place before it, yet different somehow. Less real. Though it could have just been him, when one drinks enough healing potions, everything starts to become a little sharper, a little brighter... a little _less_ connected with reality. Gods this had been a _mistake_ , but a necessary one.

The floor was shattered rock and the space opened up into a large platform, and blue-green smoke steamed from the crevices on all sides. There was the stink of demon in the air. But he wondered, not for the first time, if it was just himself. In the center of the open space stood a pretty, chestnut haired girl in a blue outfit not to different from Eirena's style of dress. She waited for them to approach as though she'd been expecting them all this time.

She didn't look like a spirit, in fact, she looked very much _alive_ , perhaps this would end alright after all?

“ _Lysa!_ ” Eirena called and she ran ahead before he could stop her. She embraced the girl, tightly, eyes brimming with happiness. “I knew it was you! I just _knew_ I would find you!” Jack hung back, not wishing to intrude on their reunion.

Lysa smiled, “Eirena, I'm glad. I had _so hoped_ that we would meet again-”

Eirena's face split into a grin, he'd never seen her so _happy_. “Yes! Yes, I'm _here_ now! Everything's going to be _different_! We-”

“-Have something to _talk_ about.” Lysa interrupted. “I've been waiting a long time for this. Fifteen hundred years in fact. You remember.” The girl continued.

Something was wrong. She sounded _wrong_.

Eirena's smile faltered a little, she could sense it too. “Yes, but Lysa... wh-what do you _mean_?”

“Shouldn't you know?” Gods, her voice was changing, he could smell demon everywhere, but where? _Where_? “The Prophet chose _you_ Eirena. Why did we have to give our lives for _you_? What was so special about _you_?” And her tone was increasing in volume and viciousness, her grip tightening around the enchantress even as Eirena became afraid and tried to pull away.

He loaded his crossbows with a quickness and precision he was not aware he possessed. Critical. Speed was critical, he would _not_ lose another girl.

“Chosen of the Prophet... Your sisters were willing to sacrifice their lives for you, just as the Prophet intended.” Lysa growled. “But I would not play along, it merely took time for me to find a way out.”

“I never knew Lysa! The Prophet never told me!” Eirena shrieked in fear and pain, as she was squeezed a little too tightly.

“ _LIAR_!” Lysa screamed, and then she _changed_. Her body contorted as Eirena freed herself from her sister's arms, and the girl became larger, sprouting wings, horns, hooves, and a tail as the horrible transformation altered her beyond recognition. So this was her “ _way out_ ” pleading to demons for power.

A succubus. There would be no guilt over her death now, demons deserved to _die_.

“EIRENA!” Jack roared and sent an arrow into the creature's shoulder, and what used to be Lysa _screamed_ as the arrows pierced and burned her, screamed so loudly that the urge to cover his ears and escape her horrible shrieking was almost overwhelming.

But it was Eirena who finished her. For all Lysa's stolen power, Eirena was, and would _always_ be, better than her. The arcane magic flowed from the enchantress's fingers like water and burned Lysa to a smoking corpse of glittering purple. Eirena knelt down next to what was left of the body, turned away from him so that he could not see her face. Her fingertips touched the blackened edge of the demon's face, a demon, who used to be one of her closest friends. After a moment, she pulled her hand away and just knelt there, gazing at nothing, saying nothing.

All that remained of her old life was no more. Their age was hers now. Jack could not imagine what her loneliness must have been in that moment. Would he have been able to do the same if one of his friends were in Lysa's place? Would he be strong enough to kill them if he had to?

A year ago, he would have said yes. But now he was not so sure.

A disembodied voice reached them then, a voice that echoed a bit like an angel's: _“Eirena, know that you possessed the greatest potential of all your sisters, and so I chose you.”_ They both looked all around, but there was no one else to be seen. Was the Prophet alive, or a spirit like Eirena's sisters here? It was impossible to tell.

The enchantress raised her head at the voice, and Jack could see tears in her eyes. _“They gave their lives, so that you could live and fight in the most important battle to come. They did this willingly, so their sacrifice is not a burden, but a gift to you.”_

“But... what do I do?” Eirena asked, voice small, her head tipped toward the void-like ceiling that swirled above them.

“ _Live. And fulfill the destiny for which I trained you, and for which your sisters died.”_ The voice answered her, then spoke no more.

Could _no one_ get the happy ending they deserved? Eirena's sadness, guilt, and disappointment was almost palpable.

“Eirena...?” He cautioned.

The enchantress sighed and stood up, brushing her hands off on the edge of her magenta skirt, then faced him. “I always thought that Lysa was as strong as any of us, perhaps even the strongest.” She said, wiping at her eyes.

Jack stood there, feeling a little useless and awkward in the face of her tears. “Eirena? I'm sorry.” He said, he wasn't sure what else to say. She stood in front of him, sniffling, pretty face crumpled in sadness. He wasn't sure what he should do, but he took her hand, _so small in his_ , and they ported out of this place to the ram. He could only hope that he would see Lyndon and Kormac there waiting for them.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

In mere moments, it was silent winds, bone fields, and falling ash again. Though it was a miserable no-man's-land, Jack was glad to have made it safely back to the battlefields of Pandemonium from...wherever they had been. That banished realm of sad memories.

The massive ram loomed on the bridge below them, shrouded in a blizzard of powdered bone. The heavy chains that supported it, hundreds of links, creaked lowly in the silent wind. He narrowed his eyes, examining it from afar. At the base of the ram were three small indentations in the metal, surrounded by intricately carved runes. The three spaces looked like they might hold the siege runes, thus activating the motion of the ram.

Pulsing reverberations boomed from beneath the fortress at the heart of the realm. Lyndon and Kormac were nowhere in sight, and his heart sank. Rather than waste time looking for them, the best option was to wait, and hope that they would be there soon.

And that nothing untoward had happened to them.

“I can feel them nearby, they will reach us soon.” Eirena helpfully supplied, almost as though she knew his thoughts. Jack sometimes wished he had a similar ability to sense others from a distance. It would relieve a lot of stress born from not knowing.

Eirena brushed some fallen ash away from the top of a flat rock and settled herself there to wait. Jack leaned against the supporting column of stone next to her, afraid that if he sat down he might not be able to get back up again. The cold rock felt good on his overheated skin.

He didn't have any more healing potions left. He would just have to force himself to keep going. Nothing he hadn't done before. It would be alright.

Eirena heaved a small sigh. “Lysa decided that the sacrifice asked of her was too great. How can I blame her? In her place, I might have made the same choice.” She mumbled sadly, sniffing and rubbing the heel of her palm against her streaming eyes.

“You would _not_.” Jack insisted. “You've always made sacrifices for the greater good.”

Eirena seemed to think on this, and furrowed her brow, planting her hands on her bare knees. There was a scrape on her left knee that he had not noticed before, a red mar on her porcelain skin. It hurt him to see it. “But if the price is too costly, goodness is not enough. Perhaps there is a better way.” She finished.

“Perhaps.”

It was quiet for a little while while they both waited for Lyndon and Kormac to arrive. Jack fought the urge to pace, thinking of dwindling lives back on Sanctuary, and instead examined the workings of his crossbows, making sure that there was no damage and all was in order.

“Jack?” Eirena asked, and the awkward nervousness in her voice made him look down at her.

“Yes?”

She frowned a little and drew her bottom lip into her mouth a moment. “Do you... _like_ Lyndon... a lot?”

They both knew what she meant. What was the point in hiding it?

“...Yes.”

She smiled at him then, and he looked away from her, gazing determinedly at his boots planted in the dust, feeling foolish.

“He cares for you. I see it in his eyes.” She said simply. How embarrassing.

“And what do you see in Kormac's gaze?” He asked quickly, wondering if her powers of observation extended to the Templar's painfully obvious attraction to her.

“Kormac..? I...”

“Hey!”

Lyndon's voice, and he could see him and Kormac coming around the corner from a staircase embedded in the rock. Jack released a breath he had not been aware he was holding. Kormac pushed ahead of the scoundrel and ran to Eirena. Lyndon didn't seem to mind, in fact he merely seemed happy to see the Demon Hunter.

But there was something wrong. His eyes... his eyes were _sad_. Lyndon and Kormac had fought again hadn't they? Jack sighed, but Lyndon beamed at him all the same. That happy smile not reaching his eyes.

“Eirena? It...I...” Kormac fumbled, kneeling in front of the enchantress and taking both of her dainty hands in his. He struggled to find the right words to say to her while she looked at his face, a sad little smile crossing her features.

“It... didn't _work out_... did it?” Kormac finally said, voice small.

She smiled at him. “No... but _yes,_ as well.”

“Oh! Then... good?” He babbled.

Lyndon smiled a little at the enchantress, but didn't say anything. He fished something out of his pocket, the siege rune, then handed it to Jack.

“Everything go alright?” Jack asked him, their fingers brushing as he took it.

“Fine enough.” Lyndon said evenly. The _liar_.

“You?”

Jack sighed. “Fine enough.” Jack echoed a little sarcastically, and Lyndon stuck his tongue out at him. Jack ignored him, addressing all of them, “We haven't any time to lose. Let's go.”

They made for the precarious stairs that would lead them to the ram, but a flash of blue light a few yards away stopped them.

“ _Tyrael_!” Eirena exclaimed. The archangel stood upon a badly decayed waypoint none of them had noticed prior. Jack hoped they might be able to use to get home once they made it out of here.

He could not think in 'ifs.' He _would_ not.

“I bear grave news my friends.” Tyrael said approaching them, wasting no time. “The sliver has revealed Malthael's plan to me and it is worse than I could have imagined. He means to use the soulstone to capture _all_ demonic essences, even those that linger in human hearts. If the stone is altered to rip the demonic essence out of every man, woman, and child on Sanctuary, they will all die.”

Jack's heart sank an his mouth went dry. _Gods how much time did they have?_ But he wiped it all away as thoroughly as he could, allowing anger to lead him once again. Hatred gave him strength, and the well he had to draw from was deep.

_They could still do this._

“We can still stop him. It's time to attack the Fortress!” He spat.

They hurried down the stairs, bones and rock rising around them. They had to be as careful as they could despite the time constraint. A stumble now would end them.

“I never thought I would come back here.” Tyrael said between pants, clutching his side. “Pandemonium has been our battlefield for ages on end. Demon blood saturates this ground, and many angels died defending it.” Tyrael moved a little slower than Jack would have liked, it must have cost the former angel much to reach them. His wound clearly still pained him. Jack wondered if it was something Kormac could heal.

“What could possibly be worth fighting for out here?” Jack asked, eyes on Lyndon's feet as the scoundrel climbed down the steps ahead of him.

“Our battles mostly revolved around the Worldstone. I had the Pandemonium Fortress built to protect it.” Tyrael explained.

“So you were the one who built the fortress.” 

Tyrael laughed a little at that. “Not on my own, but it was my idea, yes. The angels raised the fortress around it many eons ago.”

“Tyrael, you are still wounded, do you need Kormac's assistance?” Jack asked, a little worried at the man's labored breaths. Kormac looked up at the sound of his name.

“No... no, forgive me, but it is nothing that Templar magic will be able to cure. I must wait for it to go away on its own.” Jack nodded, accepting his answer.

“Didn't include any _secret entrances_ by chance did you Tyrael?” Lyndon asked, staring at the massive ram at the base of the stairs.

Tyrael smiled, “I fear not, the fortress is always changing, caught between the forces of Heaven and Hell.”

Jack walked past Lyndon to examine the runes and the indentations in the metal where he thought the siege runes would likely be placed. He assumed Tyrael would know, just in case he was wrong.

“Uhm... how're we supposed to get in once this thing smashes the door open?” The scoundrel asked curiously.

“Well... it might be best if we stood on the top.” Tyrael suggested hesitantly.

Lyndon turned to look at Tyrael. “The top...? Of the bloody _ram_?” He asked in disbelief.

“Malthael will send his minions to stop us, and the ram, at all costs. We must defend it.” The archangel reasoned.

“Seems to be the, ah, _best_ option... We can't defend it from the ground after all.” Kormac mumbled, peering over the edge of the bridge with an uncomfortable frown on his face. Eirena nodded in agreement.

“Jack, are you _hearing_ this?” The scoundrel crowed.

“Yes. It's a sound idea.”

“Sound? _Sound_? You're mad. Abso- _bloody_ -lutely _mad_.”

“Yes. Sorry. Up you go.” Jack answered calmly, spinning the siege runes in his hands, and Lyndon climbed the chains, grumbling and cursing all the way to the top, Kormac and Eirena following behind him. The scoundrel peered over the edge at him, a nervous frown on his face.

“I will activate it Tyrael, I can climb up faster.”

“That is wise. This rune goes in the indentation on the left, the other goes on the right, the last above them. You will know when it is activated.” Tyrael explained.

“Are you well enough to fight?” The Demon Hunter asked him seriously.

“Yes. I can help for now.” Then he hooked his fingers into the chains, hauling himself to the top. Kormac and Lyndon pulled him onto the platform once the former archangel was close enough to reach.

Jack wondered if Tyrael missed his useful wings, and planted the runes in place. The effect was instantaneous, the runes flared a bright red, charging alive with magic and the bright light roamed through the ancient writing on the metal like blood through a vein. Then there was the deep, groaning sound of grinding metal as the ram began to shift and move. Jack grabbed the chains, scrambling up them hurriedly. His hands met Lyndon's fingers and the scoundrel pulled him aboard their hapless vessel by the wrist.

“Am I the only one who understands how _utterly_ insane this is?” Lyndon muttered, somewhere between annoyed and frightened.

“Just hold on to something.” Jack answered.

“ _Riiiight_.” He drawled, clinging to the edge of the chain with both hands. The Demon Hunter followed suit.

“Oh...don't look down Kormac.” Eirena offered, likely thinking she was being helpful.

Templar swallows, “ _Now_ you tell me.”

And the great ram _heaved_ , the immense slab of metal shuddering as it made the slow journey backwards, gathering incredible momentum. The backwards slide took minutes, giving him just enough time to agree with Lyndon that yes, this _was_ utterly insane and the hit could send them all flying to smash against those great metal doors like so many insects, and the ram was picking up speed now, years of disuse causing the metal workings to scream in agony as they ground together and the door looked like it was a _mile_ away and-

“ _HOLD_!” Tyrael yelled and they all braced themselves, and the ram seemed to lose all tension and they moved in freefall.

The first impact was tremendous and sent a shock wave through his core, rattling his teeth in his head. He had a sudden vision of mountain goats jousting for females, their skulls smashing together with resounding cracks. He opened his eyes, unaware that he had closed them, and was relieved to see that everyone had more or less stayed put.

Lyndon offered him a weak, toothy smile, “Are my _teeth_ still there?”

He could not help but grin, feeling dizzy.

“Yes.”

“Ah, _good_.” The thief groaned.

The ram was moving again, making the slow journey backwards once more, readying for another strike. And just as predicted, Malthael's minions came out of the woodwork and swarmed over the ram to kill them. Jack put two bolts through the skull of one reaper trying desperately to pry the runes free, while Tyrael, Lyndon, Kormac and Eirena sent the horrible creatures over the edge to their deaths, an endless plunge through an ochre abyss.

The reapers and skeletons kept coming in small waves as the ram was nearing the end of it's crawl, and they all rushed to the back edge to brace themselves for the next strike.

“HOLD!” Tyrael shouted again, and the ram was once more loosed to smash against the sealed gates of the Fortress. Jack had his eyes open just long enough to see the remaining reapers go flying and splatter messily against the now heavily dented metal gate. Then the ram was moving again.

“It should only take one more strike to breach!” Tyrael shouted hoarsely, picking himself up off the metal floor. And Jack was grateful for that, every bone in his body was aching from the impacts, and he wasn't sure how much more of this any of them would be able to take.

There was a sudden lurching sensation and the ram ground to a halt. _What?_

“Those hooks!” Tyrael exclaimed, “We must destroy the hooks!”

Massive, clawed metal hooks had bored deep into the body of the ram, and Jack quickly realized how. The great crossbow he had seen on the cliff much earlier whilst speaking with Imperius. Firing these hooks to stop the ram was the purpose for which it was designed.

Eirena set to work immediately to melt one hook with her arcane magic, the metal shimmering white hot, while Lyndon fired ice arrows at the other repeatedly to make it brittle, and Kormac hacked at it with his sword, likely ruining the poor blade beyond repair, but he could always get a new one. This left Jack and Tyrael to fend off the creatures that tried to attack them again.

Grenades picked them off easily, and the chain Kormac and Lyndon worked on snapped first, causing the ram to tip dangerously to one side. Then an immense, winged demon climbed aboard. It made for Kormac immediately and smashed into him heavily, sending the Templar flying onto his back, then dealt Eirena a heavy blow, just as she managed to break the chain holding the hook.

The ram swung backwards, and Jack, enraged, fired a volley of bolts at the demon, snarling through his teeth, turning the beast into a bloody, quill-ridden wreck. It fell dead, toppling over the edge.

But Eirena had lost her balance when the ram moved, and he was not close enough to reach her in time.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Lyndon saw it, almost in slow motion, Eirena's shriek when she was struck, then her feet skidding uselessly over smooth metal surface, the demon responsible falling over the edge, but he didn't think too hard about any of it. He just _moved._ He wobbled a little as he ran, begging his sea-legs to come back to him, just long enough to reach her.

Gods _please._

The ram was almost ready to strike again, and Jack was only able to get to Kormac and hold onto him, Lyndon caught a glimpse of his eyes, wide with fear as he watched Eirena fall.

But Lyndon would _not_ abide another girl, he bloody well would _not_.

And his arms came around her waist and he pulled, lurching them both backwards away from the edge in time to hear Tyrael's last, “ _HOLD_!” and in a panic, he threaded his arm into the chains to get some kind of leverage, and with his other he held onto Eirena as tightly as he could, and she clung to him as the ram slammed home, shattering the gate to pieces.

But it was a rubbish idea, he knew that the moment the ram smashed the gate apart, the impact reverberating into the metal chains like a bolt of electricity, snapping the bone in the arm he'd foolishly wound into the chains neatly with a sick sort of cracking sound he could clearly  _hear._ And oh _yes_ , he knew it was broken. Searing pain, and _Gods_ , not even a dislocated shoulder hurt _this_ bad. But maybe it wasn't snapped so neatly, he really wasn't sure, everything had gone a little fuzzy, and the moment it occurred he'd had a bright vision of a heavy ship rope being slowly sliced by a sharp blade, the threads fraying away in a spiral.

And he had just enough presence of mind to see Jack kneeling in front of him, pulling Eirena out of his grip and Kormac was staring at him like he was bloody Akarat himself and Jack's hands were touching-

He hissed through his teeth. “That bloody _hurts_ you _wretched_ twat!” He ground out, swallowing back nausea and dizziness that threatened when the pain didn't get better, but _worse_.

Jack looked at him, and Lyndon could see utter relief in his face, “This time, it really _is_ broken.” He said with a strained smile.

And Lyndon laughed like a madman.

 


	20. A Sister's Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just... the worst.

_Do not stand at my grave and weep_  
_I am not there._  
_I do not sleep._  
_I am a thousand winds that blow._  
_I am the diamond glints on snow._  
_I am the sunlight on ripened grain._  
_I am the gentle autumn’s rain._  
_When you awaken in the morning’s hush,_  
_I am the swift uplifting rush_  
_Of quiet birds in circled flight._  
_I am the soft stars that shine at night._  
_Do not stand at my grave and cry;_  
_I am not there._  
_I did not die._  
**—** Mary Frye

 

 

Kormac grunted and heaved himself to his feet with Tyrael's help, and the world moved strangely around him. He seemed to be having a considerable amount of trouble forming proper thoughts, and while it was nothing new for him to struggle over which word was best, it was unusual that it was this frustratingly difficult to do so. I mean, it wasn't like he was talking to _Eirena_ now, was he?

“I could not find your helmet Kormac, I think it may have fallen off the edge...” Eirena said gently, and that was when he noticed that one of his ears was ringing. And oh, it was wonderful to hear her voice, muffled and ringy as it was, he'd almost lost her. She'd _fallen_ , and everything had hurt too much to get up, and Jack wasn't there, but _Lyndon..._ by the Light. He'd _saved_ her.

And Lyndon's arm was bent at a rather _impossible_ angle and he gasped in pain through a wobbly smile while the Demon Hunter helped him walk.

“S'alright 'rena, I c'n always get anotha'.” Oh, perhaps he _was_ talking to her then. Or at least, he hoped what he'd babbled were words.

“Come inside, quickly.” Tyrael said somewhere nearby, _next_ to him actually. He was discovering it was difficult to orient himself to things. People. Well, angels. Former angels.

They were inside the Fortress now, and he stumbled on unsteady legs, his breath hissing out between his grit teeth as movement caused pain to blossom up like fire on dry kindling. He hadn't been sure as to what he'd expected once they got inside, but he didn't think it would be quite so _dark_. It was cold too. He'd certainly thought death would be cold, but who didn't at least keep a few lights in their house? Especially an angel, beings of Light as they were. Well, Former angel at least. Malthael did not seem to want the Light anymore. Or the Light didn't want _him_. Really, he had fallen as far from the Light as an angel could go. But as Kormac squinted through the eye he could still see through, he _could_ make out lights in heavy iron braziers, blue and shimmering, ghostly. And something, a heavy vibrating sound, thrummed from deep within the fortress, like the churning gears of a massive clock or the steady grinding of a mill. Endless. Deep. _Bad_. It hurt his head.

Jack was kneeling on the floor, carefully pulling Lyndon's ridiculous coat off whilst engaged in a hushed, but fierce argument with the thief, foreheads nearly touching as they hissed at each other. It had something to do with Lyndon insisting that he was _fine_ -while his breathing stuttered at the slightest movement, eliciting a few colorful curses- and that Jack should _not_ worry, and that he was _sorry_ for shouting at him. Then Jack barking back that he was clearly _not_ alright at all. The Demon Hunter's eyes were bright with Hell's fire, like shimmering embers burnt low in a fireplace, but the crease of his brow betrayed how upset he was, an expression that Kormac could only describe as raw ache. He barely looked at anyone else, only having eyes for the scoundrel.

Kormac was feeling strangely perceptive despite his head being so achy and fuzzy. It was so _obvious_ now.

He could feel something hot and wet trickling down over the right side of his head and seeping into his eye. Or it _would_ have been in his eye if said eye hadn't stubbornly swollen closed. He must have hit his head somehow. He couldn't quite _remember_ what had happened exactly. He recalled being hit in the chest -and oh, his chest _hurt,_ the armor was dented in the front, nearly crumpled, breathing hurt- but there were some missing pieces too.

But he remembered vividly Eirena losing her footing, time slowing down as despair clogged his throat. The pain in his heart at watching her fall had been worse than any injury he'd ever received. But Lyndon had somehow been there, and pulled her back from the edge and had _broken his arm_ to hold onto her.

Kormac would never call him selfish again for as long as he drew breath.

He was getting tired, and he didn't think he'd be able to heal himself very effectively, and he wasn't going to be of much use to anyone like this, but maybe, he could fix Lyndon's broken arm so that the thief could continue on.

Jack _needed_ him. How had he not noticed it before?

He struggled to free himself from Tyrael. “At ease Templar!” The former archangel said hurriedly, trying to hold him back.

“Kormac! Try not to move anymore, you-” Eirena this time, but he dismissed her concern as well.

“M'alrigh' 'rena.” He slurred, but manged to cross the meager distance and sank to his knees heavily in front of the thief and the Demon Hunter.

“Kormac. You've uh... you've looked _better_.” Lyndon said lightly, but there was a distinct hitch in his breath, and the clipped way he spoke indicated how much the break was paining him.

“An' your face... is whiter than _paper birch_. Le'me see your arm.” Kormac demanded, then worked to undo the straps at his shoulders that held up his heavy chest armor. It had never felt so _heavy_ before. And he was so _tired_. Eirena hurried over to help him, and he was grateful. When the heavy armor clanked to the floor he felt a little lighter, but everything still hurt the same.

“Least I didn't break my _face_. Small blessings.” Lyndon murmured through a toothy grin, delicately supporting his broken arm in his other hand while the Demon Hunter held him upright, his arm looped so carefully around the scoundrel's waist. Kormac was supposed to be Jack's friend, and by the Light he'd missed _everything_. Were they that good at hiding it or was he just so _thick_ and love-sick that he couldn't see past Eirena's pretty face to the people around him? He felt even more ashamed of what he'd said. Lyndon hadn't been taking advantage at all...

“Kormac, you need not do this.” Jack huffed sternly in his best 'do-not-argue-with-me' tone, “Your injuries... we can find _another way-_ ”

“No. There isn't anotha' way. If you want him t'come with yeh then le' me see 'is _ruttin_ ' arm!” He hadn't meant to shout at the Demon Hunter, but he was very tired and everything _hurt_. Jack seemed surprised to be yelled at so, and went quiet. Or maybe he was just concerned enough to not argue against help.

“He saved _Eirena_.” Kormac mumbled, almost as an apology. And really, that should be reason enough for him to give everything he had. Eirena held her staff high, giving him extra light.

He tossed his gauntlets carelessly aside, and gripped the ruined arm in his hands, setting the bone immediately. Lyndon had not quite been ready for it and the pain loosed a startled cry from him, before he turned his face into the Demon Hunter's shoulder, eyes closed, releasing a weak stream of obscenities. Kormac thought he _probably_ should have warned him, but there wasn't a lot of time, and... he hadn't quite thought that hard about it. The break was clean, it would even heal straight. _Lucky bastard_.

He called the Light to him and willed it into the broken bone, knitting it back together all at once. Not perfect or complete, but it would do for now.

That done, he slumped onto the cold, stone floor with a heavy release of breath, finding that he felt much better lying on his back. Sweat soaked every part of him, and he felt much too tired to get back up. Perhaps a short nap wouldn't hurt?

And Lyndon was kneeling over him, holding the Templar's hand in his.“Did that half sedated pack beast noise you just made mean that you're going to _die_?” Lyndon asked, and he was smiling, all white teeth and grinning at him, but Kormac thought he looked a little worried too.

“No. I'm jus' a little _tired_ is all. Not t'worry.” He said brightly. Really, he hadn’t felt so light in days. This floor was delightfully comfortable.

That only seemed to make Lyndon look _more_ concerned. “I'm _sorry_ I said I hated you.” Lyndon confessed hurriedly. “I _don't_. I've... always admired you.”

“I'm sorry too, about what I said... I didn't...uhm, _apologize_... earlier.” Light above, why were words so difficult? “I hope the arm... makes up for some of it.” He replied, but didn't stop there. “You said you don' have anythin'. But you've got us though right? We're any _things_. I always thought you were nice, I mean, not t' _me,_ but on your, uh, your _insides_ , an' you're not a snake. You're _not_. A snake, I mean.” Kormac realized that he was babbling again, but didn't much care.

Lyndon smiled. “You've hit your head... haven't you?”

“He probably has a concussion.” Jack supplied in that bland way of his, from somewhere beyond his field of vision.

 “Ah, so something finally _did_ penetrate that fat skull of yours.” Lyndon said with a sharp laugh, and Kormac laughed too, but it fell into a painful wheeze, and really, he just wanted to take a nap. Just for a _little_ bit.

“Thank you Kormac.” Lyndon said, eyes soft and downcast, he squeezed the hand he held and for a moment, it was the only thing Kormac could feel.

“That arm. It's not perfect. _Don't_ put weight on it.” He urged, then everything after that got a little blurry and grey, and he didn't remember anything else.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Lyndon had _apologized_ , and after, he'd felt better than he had all day.

At least until Kormac had to go and ruin it by braying and keeling over like a knee-capped donkey. Lyndon hadn't realized he'd been so injured. When had _that_ happened? The Templar's breaths labored out of him like he might have also had a broken bone somewhere. He very likely did.

He'd just gotten a friend, and he didn't have enough of them to afford losing any.

Though he _had_ hated him, hated him right into the sodding ground, but only in the heat of the moment. It had been embarrassing, and a little awkward, but it needed to be said. They could not keep going like this, hating each other. Well, really just Lyndon hating Kormac for being a know-it-all, self-righteous twat. But he could not keep it up because he knew they were supposed to be _friends_.

Miserable, bickering friends, but friends.

When Kormac had healed him, he felt like he could _feel_ the bone shifting and snapping back into place, and Akarat's bleeding balls it had hurt more than anything. Then it was heat and light, and the pain started to lessen. He felt a little less woozy, then everything went away at once and he was aware of _everything._ It still ached, but it wasn't in two pieces anymore. Most importantly, he could _use_ it again.

It had been _completely_ worth it though. At least Eirena hadn't died, and he was mighty proud of himself for that.

Jack seemed a little better, now that Lyndon wasn't white faced and crippled anymore. His hands had flitted over his arm like nervous, hopping sparrows, like he'd been afraid to make everything worse. The relief on his face after the bone was fixed made things a little better. But Jack still _looked_ positively awful, like death warmed over. He was sweaty, a little green, and the chestnut color of his skin was so pale it was verging on ghostly.

“Eirena? Can you heal him?” Jack asked the enchantress gravely.

Eirena's lips were drawn down in a thin, worried line. Tyrael merely observed the whole scene with a strange mixture of concern and great interest on his face. Perhaps he still wasn't _used_ to mortals and their strange squabbles and affections. Come to think of it, Lyndon could not recall a time where he had actually seen the former angel _eat_ something...

“Yes. But this will take time. Time we do _not_ have. There are broken bones and I am not as good as he is. Y-you must go on ahead.” She urged, light coming from her delicate hands in fluttering pulses, and Lyndon could see that her eyes were getting misty. He really hoped she wouldn't cry. He hated that.

“I will aid you where I am able Eirena.” Tyrael offered, and knelt down beside her with a wince, already examining the Templar's worrisome, bloodstained tabard. _Was he...?_ Yes, yes... Kormac was still breathing.

_You had better live you stupid bastard!_

Lyndon tore his eyes away from the distressing sight and looked around the Fortress. This nightmare was not too far from what he'd expected actually. It was like the most horrible tomb imaginable. And was _cold_ like a tomb as well, but he thought that it could have just been the pain that had chilled him and made him clammy, but he could see Jack's breath puffing out in front of his face like a mist. And oh, he could _smell_ him and it made him so bloody _hungry_ and-

Perhaps not the... _best_ time to think of such things.

The lights flickered in their iron braziers. The path they stood upon was narrow, flanked by an endless blackness so dark it could have been a bottomless pit. In the empty, void-space whizzed bright, silvery lights and subtle whispers. He swallowed and wondered how many souls were trapped in this terrible place.

_Was Edlin among them?_

And that awful thought made his throat tighten. Back to undressing the Demon Hunter with his eyes it was.

Jack released a steady breath, eyes flickering over the scene before him. “Malthael knows that we are here, I think you should use the amulet, take Kormac, and get out of here.” He suggested firmly.

Oh... _that_ sounded a little worrisome.

“But... what will you _do_?” Eirena asked, and her eyes were so _large._ Lyndon thought she might have been afraid. He'd never seen her _afraid_ before, and he didn't like it one little bit. A private war seemed to rage within her as she floundered with indecision.

Jack blinked rapidly and looked away, also aware of the enchantress' distress. “We will find our own way. There is a waypoint outside, you made it work for you, didn't you Tyrael?”

“Yes. When Malthael is defeated... I can take us home.”

“Is Sanctuary _home_ now?” Jack asked him.

Tyrael smiled, “It is where mortals belong, and... I've grown quite fond of it.”

The Demon Hunter returned the smile as a slight upward quirk of his lips. “As have I.”

“Please, be careful!” Eirena burst out suddenly. “I don't... I don't have anyone _else_ here. I don't want to lose anyone else!” Now she was _really_ crying. Great. Now Lyndon felt bad and he hadn't even done anything. Jack paused, and his face changed to something tight and painful, then he knelt in front of her and held both of her tiny hands in his. It was oddly affectionate of him. _Brotherly_. Lyndon had never seen him do something like that before.

“Don't worry. I _promise_ we'll come back.” He said to her with conviction. There he went again, making promises he had no rutting idea he could keep, but it seemed to be good enough for Eirena and she nodded, sniffling.

Lyndon was beginning to realize that Eirena was likely having a hard time of things, he hadn't really given it any thought before. But if there was one thing he knew about women (and he knew an awful lot) it was that they were always happier when they had girl friends. It must have been difficult for her, not having any other women around, just a bunch of eccentric men in some weird future-time where everything was _different_. Perhaps when this was all over she and Myriam could do... _magic_... things together, or whatnot. Make blankets? Cook pies? He didn't know. _Something._

And... he should _say_ something too, right?

He leaned in close to her. “Don't cry Eirena, your pretty eyes are going to get all bloodshot, and all the delicate beauty I've saved will go to _waste_!” He snapped his fingers near her ear and produced a handkerchief in his hand. A simple trick, but she gave him a watery smile anyway, accepted it and wiped her eyes. She then blew her nose in it and made to hand the soiled fabric back to him.

Lyndon frowned, scrunching up his nose in disgust. “Eugh, _you_ keep it.” But she giggled and held onto it, so it was alright. He offered her his best smile, “Don't worry, everything will work out alright.” He said gently. If he didn’t know if it was a lie, then he didn't feel as guilty about saying it to Eirena.

Kormac bleated some happy sounding jumble of encouraging sounds that no one could understand. Well, at least he wasn't _dead_...

“Thank you, for _saving_ me... and it is alright to say that you saved me because we are friends.” Eirena said, eyes red and shiny.

“Yes, that's what I _meant_.” Lyndon glanced at the Demon Hunter and was met with a sort of wide-eyed, unreadable expression.

“Go now. I will join you when I can.” Tyrael said, assisting Eirena with wrapping the Templar's great, bleeding head.

“Take the time you need, do not push yourself. We will clear the way of any foes.” Jack said in his typically hypocritical way, getting to his feet with noticeable difficulty. Did he think everyone was bloody stupid, or was he _that_ confident in his abilities to conceal how poorly he was doing?

“There is one more thing, I had not the time to say.” The former archangel urged. “When I fought Malthael, my sword passed through him like air. He is in a state of both death and life, impervious to physical harm.”

“Like... having one foot in the grave or something?” Lyndon interrupted.

“Something like that. Jack, your strength is not enough, to even _face_ him, you must channel the power of death as he does.” Tyrael explained. “There are many spirits here, perhaps they can assist you.”

“And if not?” Jack said, face grim.

“Then... there is nothing more to be done.”

“Oh, well _that's_ encouraging.” Lyndon scoffed with a roll of his eyes.

Jack said nothing.

“The power of the dead... to veil yourself in _death_. Do not let the lure of it consume you as it did Malthael.” Eirena cautioned seriously, completely composed once more. “The dead linger in this place.” She looked ahead of them as though she could see something that they could not.

“Oh, can you see the future now too? Spending a little too much girl time with our resident gossip queen then have you?” Lyndon chided. “What's so bloody enticing about being _dead_? I _much_ prefer being alive.”

“Death... is _always_ with me.” Jack answered her. _Typical sourpuss drivel._

Lyndon sighed. “Well, that's a little grim Jack, _seriously_.”

They said their goodbyes quickly- it was better to pretend that they wouldn't be long -and started their descent of the seemingly endless, dark stairwell before them. Lyndon didn't think about why an angel of death would even _want_ a railing for his haunted staircases, he was just grateful there _was_ one so he didn't have to worry about falling off the edge into blackness. But perhaps, such nonsensical thoughts were better than thinking about the people he had left behind. The _best_ friends he had ever had. He desperately wanted to keep having them.

“Mind enlightening me as to what, precisely, that _was_ back there with Kormac?” Jack asked him once they were far out of earshot.

“Huhh, I _do_ mind, actually... Can it wait?” Lyndon pleaded quietly, still a little chagrined by it all.

“As you say.” he said, and Lyndon smiled at him, relieved.

Lyndon observed the white-knuckled grip Jack had on the cold, metal railing, and wondered- not for the first time -if he would be able to do this.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Jack could hear crying somewhere, far away in the dark, and it wasn't until Lyndon spoke that he realized it had only been in his head. He could still hear screaming however, but was not sure if Lyndon could hear it as well. He did not wish to alarm him by asking.

“So what's the plan then?” Lyndon asked bluntly.

“Obtain this... power of the dead, then fill Malthael's miserable corpse with bolts.”

“Simple _and_ elegant. I like it!” Simple, yes, but elegant it was not. It was honestly just the best plan he could come up with. Lyndon's voice sounded unnaturally loud, almost a little painful to his ears, but his senses had been feeling overly sharp for some time now. On edge. He would not tell the thief to be quiet, his voice was the only comfort to be found in this wretched place.

It was dark, but he could still see quite well, Lyndon stayed close behind him, likely less able to discern his surroundings. Somewhere ahead was the sound of shifting metal that reminded him of the great, humming machines in Zultan Kulle's buried archives. The blue light was a little brighter ahead, perhaps they were close and this would end soon?

Even still, he could not stow away a feeling of terrible dread. A sense of rising terror he felt with startling conviction, though there didn't seem to be any apparent cause. A chilling of the blood, gooseflesh spreading over his armored limbs like a rash.

It was not him but this horrible place, he reasoned. Horror swelled here and evil reigned within.

_But only for the moment._

He had never been so torn between being pathetically grateful for Lyndon's presence, and the aching wish that he had just sent him away with Kormac and Eirena. Tyrael would hopefully find them soon. If he was well enough. The walkways twisted and turned ahead of them in the dark, and his head hurt too much to remember the exact way from which they had come. He hoped Lyndon might remember for when they needed to leave, but he did expect he would. The scoundrel was neither unobservant nor unintelligent, but unless he was alone, he rarely paid their meandering paths any mind. Jack supposed it would not much matter until after.

If it would even matter at all.

For now, he only had one to look after besides himself, and he took what little comfort there was to be had from that.

A figure appeared in the walkway a few yards ahead of them, and all proper functioning of mind and body came to an abrupt grinding halt. He stopped dead in his tracks and the thief ran into his back with a yelp, but he didn't register much else but the apparition in front of him.

“ _Do you recognize me?_ ” The spirit said, voice hopeful. The exact tone burned into his memory like a brand.

Her _voice_ -

He felt a sharp, queasy coldness from gut to throat as a wave of heavy gray shock washed over him. He couldn't move, he couldn't _breathe_ , he could only stare at the little spirit unblinking, like a night animal ambushed by daylight.

_Halissa?_

Then she was gone, her image etched clearly into his mind's eye, where he had kept her for nearly a decade. _Was it ten years now that he had kept her? Or had it been a thousand?_

Jack's mouth dried up and he had a sudden feeling of vertigo as the cold feeling raced all over.

_This was it. He was finally cracking._

His nightmares were following him into his waking moments now- he'd never heard of healing potions causing hallucinations, but he'd had an _awful_ lot of them- he was finally losing it like he'd so often feared- he could kill them all by accident- he wasn't going to be able to do this he-

“You saw that too... right?” Lyndon asked hesitantly from his back.

The relief was nauseating, leaving him weak. _Thankyouthankyouthank-_

Lyndon followed up his question with a concerned sounding, “Jacky..?”

Jack wasn't even sure if he could even speak.

“... _I_...”

It was answer enough, and Lyndon gripped his elbow gently.

“Hey, I've been thinking.” Lyndon began after a pause with a hint of wistfulness. “Malthael will be gone soon, and _someone_ will have to take over this place.”

_What the Hell was he talking about?_

“The angels are busy and Diablo's in that shiny rock. So, how about _me_?” He asked brightly.

Was Lyndon just talking nonsense to comfort him? Did he really look so poorly?

“But Lyndon, there are no _women_ here.” He found himself saying, feeling foolish. Mad. This felt like some half formed fever dream. He felt hot, maybe he _was_ ill and this was all some vivid hallucination.

The scoundrel laughed, “Well _you're_ here.”

Jack didn't know what to say to that, he could only swallow, saliva thick in his mouth. Mad. The man was simply mad. He still felt that vague feeling of dread, but at least he felt more _present_. They moved onward toward the sound of whirring metal and blue lights.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

A dense fog encircled them like a sheet as the way opened up, the light hazy. The walkway hung suspended by massive chains that disappeared high into an unknown ceiling, the mist impenetrable with the naked eye. Over the edge of their circular platform was a deep chasm of pale light and moisture rich air, opaque and hanging thick like the white plumes that rose from the basin of a waterfall.

The air they breathed was heavy, humid, and claustrophobic. Like a stone cellar, long abandoned to become a dwelling for dirt and spiders. The odor of decay curled in the back of Jack's throat like a barely-there aftertaste. It mixed unpleasantly with the lingering flavor of the health potions that coated his tongue.

Tomb-like. _Yes_. It was a tomb.

In the center of the circular path hung a massive machine that shifted endlessly like an intricate time piece, fueled by some horrific, unnatural power. Enormous discs rotated gently within the frame of metal and upon them were harsh visages, mouths agape, eyes wide with presumed terror. The blue light was drawn endlessly into the blackness of their mouths and the longer Jack looked, the more he realized that there were faces in the light. Dead faces of people taken by the renegade archangel.

At the bottom of the great machine stood a lone spirit, a diminutive figurehead at the helm of a terrible, shifting warship.

 _Her_.

She was standing there again, wavering and ethereal.

He blinked, not quite believing what his eyes were telling him, but there she remained, no matter how many times he closed and opened his eyes. The apple of her cheeks, her platinum hair. As he closed the distance between them he found that he could see hints of her skeleton through the surface of her glowing skin, as though she were made of frosted glass. Despite this, all was exactly as he remembered her.

“ _You're not there._ ” He stated breathlessly. “This is... some _trap_.”

She- it- _Halissa,_ screwed up her face into a sad pout. “ _What?_ Don't you know your own sister?” She whined. The way she sometimes did if she couldn't get her way, or she wanted the last muffin, or she wanted him to play with her or-

_Godspleasestop._

“I lost you. Years ago.” He whispered, voice threatening to fail him.

Jack sank to his knees then in front of her, slowly, a numb sort of shock rendering him useless. He stared at her unblinking. Unmoving. Frozen in time and space.

“Yes, but I've _found_ you again!” She exclaimed, delighted.

Yes. He could waste away here and die before her, never leaving this spot again.

A warm hand, placed flat between his shoulder blades reminded him of himself, he could feel it even through his thick, leather armor. Lyndon knelt on the floor next to him. Jack had completely forgotten he was even there.

“Do you remember the last time we were together? I was trying to sleep but I saw demons everywhere, I ran and I ran, then I fell into the river. Why did you _leave_ me there?” Halissa asked him with an earnest sort of hurt, so innocently giving voice to the worst day of his life. An event that had haunted him for ten long, empty years.

Was this his punishment? Was she here to torment him? Was he dead already and trapped in this wretched house of the damned? _Was this what Hell was supposed to be?_

“I _reached_ for you!”He burst out in helpless distress. “I _tried_ to hold onto you, if there was _anything else_ I could have _done_ -” Why bother defending himself? He was the one who had failed her. It was _his_ fault. It would always be.

Halissa bit her lip and tugged slightly on the edge of her dress, staring at the floor a little guiltily. “It's alright, it didn't hurt, I just... went to sleep.”

Around them the fog drifted in lazily, riding a draft that came from the Fortress's core, the terrible machine churning endlessly above them. Jack's voice burned out of him like an acrid smoke, the words that followed left him in agony: “ _Yes..._ You did.”

Lyndon's hand traced a haphazard pattern down his back. It didn't help.

“It... didn't _hurt_?” Lyndon repeated quietly, and Jack looked at him, noting the lines of pain etched into his features, his brows drawn up between eyes that looked bigger, darker with unknown emotions, and the frown that thinned his mouth.

_Of course. His brother. How similar their losses were._

“No, it was _pretty_! There were _so_ many stars! And I saw a great big dragon with scales that were every color!” She exclaimed excitedly, twirling a little as little girls did. “And a pink sunrise. Warm like a summertime evening with all the birds singing.”

His throat started to hurt and his eyes ached. Beyond her the horrid machine spun, the lights relentlessly drawn in. Cyclic in its smooth rotations.

“Well, that doesn't sound _so_ bad.” Lyndon said wearing the ghost of a smile.

No. It doesn't.

“You've gotten so _big_! I bet you're taller than dad! You're _scary_!” His sister said with wide eyed wonder.

_Why did those words hurt so much?_

“I'm not! I promise. I just learned to fight and...” He thought of a thousand sleepless nights, waking sweating and shaking, or clawing at whatever was nearest to him. “...Face my nightmares.”

“You're a _little_ scary.” Lyndon argued in that teasing way he did when he didn't really mean what he said. Jack could only stare at him. Halissa giggled and Lyndon beamed at her.

“You never used to have any friends.” Halissa remarked with the blunt innocence that only young children had. The frown on Lyndon's face returned at her words.

“Your friend is nice.” She said shyly.

Jack could smile for that. For her. “Yes... he is.”

Lyndon's pleased, crooked grin lessened the pain somewhat.

“There are so _many_ people here. Even more than all of Westmarch! I looked for mum and dad but... I couldn't find them.” She mumbled sadly.

“I hope they are at rest.” The alternative was too terrible to cope with.

“No. They are somewhere nearby.” She whispered I can hear them screaming. Always _screaming_.”

The emotion was too big, too terrible, Jack couldn't even begin to properly express it without at least compartmentalizing it into something more manageable, but then- ahhh... _there they were_ . Rage and hate. Gods he _needed_ them now. _So much easier._

“ _How_...?” He had meant to ask, _how are you here?_ but he was finding that his voice was having trouble working.

“Someone bad keeps us here, can you make him go away?” There was fear in her voice then. How long had she been here? How could she even be here? From where did Malthael draw these long dead souls from?

_How great was Malthael's power to be able to take his family from an afterlife he never believed in?_

“Yes.” _I will bleed him dry upon the smoldering wreck I will make of his hollow kingdom-_

Rage was far easier to stomach then whatever feelings lingered beneath, threatening to suffocate him, and he clung to it like a lifeline.

“But first... I think I will need your help.” Jack said to her. It was almost easy, to fall back into the role he had left behind upon her death... but... one never truly stops being a brother, even when their sibling is long gone.

Halissa bit her lip and glanced around nervously, as though afraid to be seen or overheard. “The bad one draws power from us so that no one can hurt him. I'll tell everyone to give their power to you instead.” She whispered hurriedly, eyes elsewhere. “Then you'll make him go away... right?”

“Nothing would please me more.” It was a lie. He _could_ think of other things, but they only made him weary with selfish want.

Halissa smiled at him, and seeing that expression on her face again, so warm, and just _there_ \- he thought of newts and a river and a long walk home as the shadows lengthened. Halissa seemed to be listening to something and closed her eyes for many moments, tilting her head a little to the side. Then she opened her eyes abruptly and reached for his hand-

-could he have touched her this whole time? Embraced her even, and not known- their fingers met, and no, there was little to feel but a cold only the dead could have, nothing solid at all, just a draft with a shape and-

-Jack was struck with something. That was the only word he could think of, for he felt that he had been physically struck in the center of his chest, forcing the air out of his lungs in a whoosh. The air he drew back in was frostburn in his throat.

It was pure winter creeping through his veins, his frozen heart pumping slush to his extremities with the speed of a drifting glacier. He forgot what it felt like to be warm in seconds, and warmth was the only thing he could think about as the ice bit in hard, gouging like knives. His blood must have crystallized, surely no one could be this cold and live through it. He could feel himself shaking like a plague victim on their way out- Lyndon's hands were white hot iron against his skin-“Gods, you're _freezing_!” He'd said, hands on his face- his skin felt like it was shrinking, tightening against the prickling sensation of the bone-deep chill.

_Was this what it felt like to be dead? Or to be the angel of death?_

“There! All our power is yours now.” Halissa said happily, oblivious to the discomfort the transference of energy had caused.

Almost as soon as it had come, the cold started to fade, sounds changed and became less real, like echoes. He stopped shivering as the icy sensation gave way to numbness. Everything evened out and he welcomed that. Numb he could deal with. Numb meant that there wasn't anything else to distract him.

Jack cracked open his eyes and blinked, momentarily confused by what he was seeing, a translucent rainbow of colors that shifted like smoke around the scoundrel's head. Lyndon was staring right back, oblivious to his own light show, concern and fear writ on his face. For a moment, Jack was too stunned to do anything but stare. He had never seen the colors of a soul before, the aura that resided in all living things.

It was beautiful, but then he made the mistake of looking past Lyndon to the walkway beyond.

_People-_

The fog was much thicker now, and the light was bright like moonlight. There were figures crowding the walkway, all around them, _hundreds of people_ \- drifting endlessly, some sobbing, forms wretched and anguished, others listless, but his blood almost froze over for the second time as they stopped their pallid meanderings and looked at him, they knew he could see them and they made _sounds_ then, horrible wailing noises of unadulterated suffering and they _reached for him with cold grasping hands_ -

“ _What's the matter?!_ ” Lyndon begged as Jack flinched back with a sound that could have been borne of terror.

“ _There are people here_. _Dead_ people.” He tried to explain, but Lyndon could not see them. The scoundrel looked around helplessly, then back to him, frowning.

Halissa did not seem concerned, not even much afraid, and the... wayward souls did not come any closer, but they still reached, mouths agape and still as stone. He tried to look anywhere but at them, but when he glanced back, some would be closer, moving only when he wasn't looking. He felt as though he were trapped in a waking nightmare. “Please set things right again... mum and dad would want that.” His sister said with the same pout.

Her words were a thousand needles piercing into his heart. But she didn't know better. She would never know how badly words could hurt. One thing to be glad for, if there was anything.

“I won't disappoint you Halissa.” He promised, and he intended to keep it this time. Perhaps Malthael would be caught by surprise. Perhaps this power, _whatever_ it was, would be enough to end this.

Her quiet voice as he turned from her was almost enough to ruin him.

“ _I don't want you to go._ ”

He closed his eyes, feeling a vague sort of sick feeling, but little else. It was good to not feel anything. Better. Easier.

(- _the path of least resistance_ -)

“I know, but... it's long past your bedtime.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, I'm a horrible liar, no Malthael yet. A friend mentioned to me that it should get its own chapter and this one had already run quite long. And the desire to not make people wait any longer (and it would have been a while with my current work schedule) encouraged me to break the chapter up.
> 
> Lyndon's pretty rainbow halo is based around the supernatural theory of auras that supposedly, all living things produce and the variance of colors indicate thoughts, feelings and personality, not unlike a soul. They can be made visible with the aid of special photography, the naked eye (with practice), or ghostly wizard powers bestowed unto you by your dead sister.


	21. The Jaws of the Final Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very, very busy month, this is the longest gap I've ever gone between posting chapters, and for that, I apologize. I think the next one will be up much faster because it's mostly written through notes already. I hope you think this was worth the wait. So without further ado.....
> 
> =+=+=+=
> 
> “Sometimes death is the only mercy we have left.” —Jack, a Demon Hunter
> 
> Title taken from a poem called 'God Lay Dead in Heaven' by Stephen Crane
> 
> Alternate chapter titles: It Came From Planet Angst, Night of the Living Angst, The Angsting, The Angstorcist.

“ _Of course you’re there. Death is always there. So why was I afraid? Your leap is swift. Your claws are sharp and merciful. What can you take from me which is not already yours? Everything I have done until now has been fruitless. It has led to nothing. There was no other path except that it led to nothing, and before me now there is only one real fact. Death. The truth I have been seeking, this truth is Death. Yet Death is also a seeker. Forever seeking me. So, we have met at last. And I am prepared. I am at peace. Because I will conquer death with death.”_

—Bruce Lee

 

 

Halissa looked down at the cold floor, plumping her face and gnawing on her bottom lip again, and– he noted the missing baby teeth that would never be replaced- hugging her arms as though cold. She rocked in place gently, from side to side, as children often did when they didn't want to keep still. It looked like she was going to cry. If she started to cry, Jack knew he wouldn't be able to make it.

“Alright.” She eventually conceded, and Jack felt the desire to lie down and die slowly leave him.

“We'll see each other again. Someday.” He promised her. It felt horrible to hope that it would be sooner rather than later, so he did not think of it anymore.

“Yes. It was nice to meet you...” Halissa trailed off, staring at Lyndon expectantly with large eyes, and Jack realized he'd never bothered to introduce him. It seemed he had forgotten his manners while she still remembered hers.

“Lyndon.” The rogue supplied helpfully, indicating himself.

“It was nice to meet you Lyndon!” She chirped.

“And you.” The rogue answered her with a toothy smile, and the colors around his head warmed and changed, more yellows, oranges, and greens, rather than blues, purples and reds. The shift of color was fascinating, and it was difficult to look away.

“Take care of my brother.” She said, still smiling.

Lyndon wiped at his eyes hastily, blinking. “I- I will.” More red now.

His long dead sister turned back to him. “I love you Jack.”

Jack stared at her, chest tightening, crushed in a vice of anxiety. He had forgotten what it felt like to have those words spoken to him. He fought the urge to scream, to curl up and claw a hole through the floor and escape, to shake her, to convince her that he did not _deserve_ her love. Not when she would never even see ten summers and he would linger on and on and on until he wouldn't.

But he swallowed the sand in his desert dry throat instead and said: “... I-I... love... you too Halissa. Give mother and father my love when you see them.” He found that focusing on Lyndon's fingers moving over his shoulders, and the numb, empty nothing filling his heart with ice, made the pain in his chest lessen significantly.

“I will, but... you _saw_ mum, didn't you?” She said as she turned away from them, back toward the blue lights behind her.

“ _What?_ ”

The doe? _Had it really been her?_

But Halissa was already vanishing, whatever power keeping her there fading away as she did.

“Goodbye!” She called, and was gone, leaving them there alone with the ever whirring death machine.

They knelt there together, very still, for several long minutes.

“Are you alright?” Lyndon asked him quietly.

 _No._ “Yes.”

The colors moved above the thief's head, red with purple and blue again. Jack wondered if he would see similar colors in his own reflection.

_No. Black._

Logically, Jack knew that he was not - _could not_ \- be alright, but as he pressed the heels of his palms hard against his eyes, waiting for the emotion that would ruin him, he found that it simply wouldn't come, like brushing his hand around in an empty box, looking for something that was misplaced. It for the best he supposed. There would be plenty of time to drown in the sea of his own wretchedness when this was all over.

He pulled his hands away from his face and felt moisture cooling around his eyes. Tears? But no, that couldn't be. He hadn't wept in over a decade, and he wasn't about to start now.

Lyndon's dark eyes were darting around the pathways that still lay before them with sharp focus, perhaps sensing the spirits that he could not see. The shadows of the dead were shambling slowly in groups, their anguished cries muffled and echoing. Jack was grateful they kept their distance, he was unable to face their suffering because he could do nothing to alleviate it.

“We need to _go_.” The rogue urged unhappily.

Jack shook himself. Right. Time running out. Thousands dying. Always something to do. Something to _kill_.

And he would _not_ fail this time.

Lyndon pulled Jack to his feet- _his hand was like a hot coal_ -and his mouth formed his familiar, crooked smile, but his expression did not quite reach his eyes and the colors did not warm as they had when he'd smiled for Jack's years-dead sister.

But he'd take what he could get.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

The path narrowed and split away from them in every direction like veins, clogged heavily with dead spirits. The life blood of a dark, corrupted heart. That was why it was so cold here, it was just so _full_ of the dead that all warmth and life and happiness was sucked away. It didn't matter, he couldn't feel the cold anymore. Jack picked a path at random, hoping that he'd get lucky, Lyndon trailing just behind him. They passed disintegrating weapons of angelic nature, supply stores, and arched doorways over their path that would periodically close with thin films of ice that left firm ice on the edges of clothing that was caught unawares. They would likely induce frostbite at a touch.

They were very careful to avoid contact with them until the doorways had melted again. It was likely just another blockade implemented to waste their time.

Jack wondered what had become of Tyrael.

“Do you still see those... ghosts?” Lyndon asked curiously, picking an icicle off the handle of his crossbow and pinging it over the edge of the path.

“Yes.”

“...What are they doing?” He asked with a bit of hesitation.

Jack looked around at the spirits again, trying not to make eye contact with any of them. They reached for him, and at first their desperately grasping fingers had filled him with an animal fear. The gripping terror had subsided as he'd gotten himself under control, and the aura of numbing death he had veiled himself in had helped even more so. He felt the weight of their tortured gaze as they begged him with their eyes and their weak, rasping voices. Begged him to do _something_ , but what could he do for them other than kill the one who held them here?

He sighed tiredly. “Looking at me, some are crying, or screaming, others wander without purpose.” _They whisper to me to free them but I can't, I can't do anything-_

The scoundrel frowned at his words, looking over his shoulder nervously.“Why are they here if Malthael is supposed to be... _harvesting_ them to make himself stronger?”

“I don't know, perhaps the process is... gradual. Or he feeds off of them continuously.” Jack speculated.

“Oh. _Lovely_.” Purple colors now, and blue. Did that mean Lyndon was... upset? It seemed too obvious, too stereotypical, and Jack would not make it worse by asking for clarification.

Neither of them said anything more.

Hours passed. Or it certainly felt like hours. He had no sense of time in this place, only a heightened awareness of the wave of death that was blanketing the world. He could not tell if there were more wayward spirits here then there had been a little while ago. Their numbers seemed endless. Jack and Lyndon walked through the crowds of ghosts as easily as air. It was unnerving and horrible to feel them pass through his body, but Lyndon seemed unaware of it but for the occasional shiver they induced.

“I think we've passed this dusty, petrified angel corpse before...” Lyndon remarked dryly, toeing the prone body with his boot and jumping when it crumbled and blew away on a non-existent wind.

“We're going in circles.” Jack said angrily, trying to muster the energy to get truly infuriated. The anger came slower than he would have liked, burning low and unhelpful in his gut.

“How long have we even _been_ here? Less than two hours... surely?” Lyndon responded with a similar frustration.

_Forever. We've been here forever._

They stood on another platform filled with ancient instruments of war and Jack eyed each of the paths before them, weighing their options. Each path went in a different direction and it was far too foggy and dark to see much further then a few feet in. Any of them could be right, or they could all be wrong. He couldn't possibly know-

“You'd be _lost_ here without me.” The scoundrel remarked with a knowing smile, colors sparkling orange and blue.

 _Of all the ridiculous-_ “Except that you have _no idea_ where we are!” The hunter spat, but it was without much venom. He was just tired. _So tired_.

“Maybe I _do_ , and just I don't want to make you feel _stupid_.” Lyndon finished with an irritated sound, blushing a little. Red and yellow. Purple too. How curious.

Jack wondered if perhaps Lyndon had meant something _else_ by what he'd said, and he had misinterpreted it. It was difficult to read subtleties when he could hardly unravel his own thoughts. He didn’t have the energy to smile for the scoundrel, and he was a little afraid that if he started laughing he might never be able to stop.

There was a pull of fog lying just above the floor like a lazy river's current. Jack stared and noticed it was different then the regular mist that shrouded them, tinged with magic and ethereal. The silver fog followed the center path before them, twisting away like water on course.

“There's a trail of something. It's like the mist, but different. Can you see it?” He asked Lyndon quickly, pointing at their feet.

Lyndon stared at the ground, looked all around, then puffed a little sigh, giving a frustrated “ _No_.”

Another “gift” from this strange power then. “I think it might lead us to where we need to go. Come on.”

They picked up the pace, hurrying down the silver walkway through the heavy mist. Dew glittered on their armor and in their hair, crystallizing into ice in the low temperature. There was a perceptible change, and Jack sensed... _something_. He felt as though they were driving deeper into the heart of the fortress, the odd, steady hum he had heard ever since they had arrived was getting slightly louder as they continued on. The wandering spirits were thinning in number, perhaps they had been moving as far away from this thrumming center as they were able. Jack cursed himself for not noticing this sooner. He felt hope kindle in his heart despite the dread. This felt like the right way. They were getting closer to the _end_ of all this.

“Why didn't _I_ get any ghostly, magical wizard powers or whatnot? How am I even supposed to _help_ you?” Lyndon complained, huffing as they jogged.

_Because you are far too alive to suffer through something as terrible as this._

Before Jack could come up with a suitable answer, a heavy shape loomed out of the fog just ahead of them. A hideous creature that hovered a foot off of the ground, it must have been angelic, or at least that is what it had been before being twisted by Malthael's vile energies. The thing was grossly fat, its skin pasty white, like the flesh of something that had died in the wet dark of a cavern, and stretched thickly over it's plump, legless body.

There was dark armor and cloth over its waist, arms and shoulders, and a circle of metal curved over the creature's fat little head in a mockery of a halo. The thing held a spiked staff in its withered hand that was topped with that hated blue light of Malthael's death maidens. There was a necklace of human skulls at its breast and, perhaps the most horrible of all, its flat, malformed face had no eyes to speak of, only a hideously gaping mouth filled with uneven, humanoid looking teeth.

It croaked at them, a dry nightmarish death rattle, and tilted its staff forward. White, icy slick formed and spread over the floor in front of them like an accelerated frost while the thing floated serenely backwards away from them. Jack darted to the left to avoid stepping on the ice and Lyndon moved right. Then the Demon Hunter looked on in horror as several of the spirits from the crowd around them were pulled toward the strip of white on the floor and _sank into it like quicksand, clawing and screaming to get away but Gods they couldn't-_ they disappeared beneath the surface of ice on the floor and reemerged as blue skeletons, lumbering and rasping toward them. He recoiled in horror, _he could not-_ this was not their fault- they did not _want this_ -

Panic came suddenly, piercing the veil of nothingness he'd cloaked himself in. For the first time in many years, panic made Jack hesitate, and he paid for it.

He'd barely heard Lyndon scream his name when something _else_ that had clawed it's way free from the ice barreled into him, sending him sprawling on the hard surface of the pathway. Pain registered, but was quickly brushed aside as he struggled to right himself, his hands gripped hard on the top and bottom jaw of the dog beast, and he pushed back against it while the creature strained its neck forward in a desperate bid to tear his throat out.

 _He could not reach his crossbows or blades like this, stupid,_ _stupid_ -

Arrows peppered its side with swift, meaty thunks, and the beast howled, it's blue glowing tongue curling in its mouth with what looked like pain, but it did not back down. Jack felt a flood of blessed rage at his own mistake, the strongest bout of hate he'd been able to conjure since he'd been granted this suffocating power, and he would not let it go to waste. Strength flooded his limbs and he jerked his hands hard to the right with a gritted snarl, tearing the beast's bottom jaw clean out of its sockets, and tossing it aside violently. _Die already! Just die!_

Blue, illuminated blood hemorrhaged from the wound and onto his chest while the dog made horrible guttural sounds of furious agony, tongue hanging uselessly like a draped slab of rotten blue meat. With his free hand, Jack swiftly yanked a shimmering ice arrow from the beast's flank and plunged it deep into it's rolling blue eye, effectively ending the horrible thing's unnatural life. He pushed the corpse off of himself and sprang to his feet, crossbows drawn and hatred writhing hot in his breast.

When Jack finally caught sight of him, Lyndon was close to being overwhelmed by skeletons- _how quickly their numbers had grown_ \- but he still loosed arrow after freezing arrow into them, the hovering aura about his head burning red and black to match the violent determination etched into his face. He killed many, their fragile bones shattering and releasing the borrowed souls back into the crowd. They wept helplessly after their brief period of forced suffering.

Enraged, Jack fired, hatred propelling his black bolts, and they burned their way through the skeletons like a wildfire through brush. When the last bone crumbled to frost, the thief locked eyes with him, relieved, but focused. They did not tarry, instead roaring down the hall in pursuit of the hideous Seraph that was currently attempting to summon another army of undead abominations.

When they found the thing again, it was laughing, a grotesque giggle that rattled it's pudgy body. The entire floor beneath their feet went white with ice and Jack saw a large number of spirits once more get dragged toward it-

_-Gods, too many-_

-but as they rose their weapons to engage, the laughter was abruptly cut off by a familiar silver blade sliding through the creature's skull like a hot knife through butter. The blade moved upwards, splitting the head in half with a spray of glutted brain matter. Then there was a piercing song of metal, and a wave of bright angelic light blasted the Seraph to pieces.

A _very_ familiar blade.

“Tyrael!” Jack shouted. He was alive!

The former archangel smiled at them, but it was a sad smile. “I never envisioned a day where I would be cutting down my own brethren with El'Druin's light. Malthael has fallen further than should have ever been possible.” He brought a hand to his side wincing slightly, before he cleaned the edge of his blade and slid it back into its scabbard.

“Heaven has only itself to blame, we did not keep a watchful eye on our ailing brother. Come friends, the center of the Fortress is just ahead of us.” Tyrael said, and they followed him down the misty path.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

 _Of course there were still things here_ , Lyndon thought miserably.

They'd been spoiled by the long walk with no horrible monsters trying to murder them. At least Tyrael had found them now. Though the former angel still carried a healing wound, it was good to have extra help for clearing the way. Thankfully, there were no more of those horrible fat, skeleton summoning things, which Lyndon was _extremely_ grateful for. He was going to have nightmares for weeks after this just thinking of that disgusting mouth and the little white peg-teeth that filled it. There were only regular glowing skeletons charging about, and some vicious, but weak (at least compared with what they were accustomed to) demons that still attacked them on the way, which was just brilliant because Lyndon was _very, very_ busy being _very_ concerned.

He was concerned that Jack would not have anything left in him to kill the Angel of Death, he was far worse off now then he had been before he'd killed Diablo, and he'd barely escaped with his life from that little excursion. Lyndon hoped that the strange power the hunter's poor little sister had bestowed upon him would be the extra push Jack needed to finish Malthael off. Not that Lyndon wasn't more than just a little bit anxious about these new spooky spirit abilities as well: the black smoke that had been rising from the man's shoulders had gone silver, more like steam than shadow now, his eyes were silver too, the familiar Hellfire glow extinguished. It was all _wrong_ , and Lyndon didn't like it. He didn't like it one little _bit_. Jack's skin had been icy cold when he'd touched him. Would it ever go away? Gods, could he be like this _forever_? Could he even live through it? Even Nephalem could freeze to death couldn't they?

He was pointedly _not_ telling the Demon Hunter how corpse-like and ghastly he looked, the less Jack had to worry about the better. Better that _Lyndon_ worried about it instead. The scoundrel checked for the skeleton key in his pocket again, he had forgotten about it for a little while, but it was comforting to know that it was still there, that he hadn't lost it somehow... again.

And to top it all off, he could scarcely imagine how poorly Jack must have been feeling after seeing his sister again. He was far more upset about it than he was letting on, he'd buried it almost immediately, but Akarat's mercy how much pain could one person squirrel away before there simply wasn't room for any more? Apparently, in Jack's case, a whole Hell of a _lot_. Lyndon didn't know how he would have felt if Edlin had been there, a vengeful spirit to curse at him for his failings. Honestly, though he still ached to see him, to beg forgiveness, even say goodbye- and _that_ thought made his eyes sting just a little- he was selfishly grateful that he had not seen his brother there, he... likely would not have been able to handle it very well.

He was beginning to learn the limits of his physical and mental endurance, but he was still unable to discern what Jack's were.

Another archway loomed ahead of them and the humming sound was louder than ever. Lyndon thought he could hear voices too but was not sure whether was imagining it or not. Beyond the doorway shone a tremendous, chilling light, like the moon shining full through an ice frosted window.

“His sanctum lies beyond this doorway, we can follow you no further.” Tyrael said to Jack, sheathing his big shiny blade.

He felt an inexplicable sensation of dread building in his gut like a sickness. It was probably just nerves or perhaps the Angel of bloody _Death_ being in the next damn room, and oh _Gods_ it was too soon, they'd come to the end of it and there wasn't any _time_ left, how suddenly it had all ended, and he still had so much that he wanted to say to him but there was no _time_ -

Hold on. _We?_

“What do you mean... _we_?” Lyndon said to Tyrael a little sharply.

“We have not been granted the power of the dead and cannot harm Malthael, we will likely only get in the way.” Tyrael explained. Did he think Lyndon hadn't been listening? He already knew all that.

_But..._

Frowning, Lyndon looked to the Demon Hunter for some kind of reassurance that yes, of _course_ Lyndon was going to come along and it was only Tyrael who was going to remain behind and be useless, but the hunter only wore a sombre, guilty expression.

“He's right. I must go alone.” Jack conceded.

And wasn't that just _it._ Jack was off his rocker, certainly.

“Riiiight, just like that time with Diablo, and _that_ turned out just brilliant for you didn't it?”

The Demon Hunter breathed a tired sigh. “I won didn't I?

“You almost _died_.” Lyndon shot back.

“Almost doesn't count. If you follow me into Malthael's chambers it will mean certain death for _you_.”

 _Shit._ “Th-That's not the point!”

“It is _exactly_ the point!”

Tyrael observed their little argument with a mixture of interest and concern, but Lyndon couldn't bring himself to care. It wasn't fair. Lyndon couldn't go to watch the hunter's back and it wasn't _fair_.

“You were _happy_ I couldn't come with you to kill Diablo weren't you?” He accused hotly, folding his arms and hunching his shoulders angrily. “Did you think I'd slow you down?”

Jack balked at his words. “Lyndon! Of _course_ not-”

“You always try to leave me behind! Am I _that_ bad? I've been getting better haven't I?” And now Jack looked as though he had struck him. And it was awful. And how _stupid_ he felt, starting such a pathetic argument. He didn't want to fight with him, he knew he was being childish and everything he said went against all logic but he didn't care. _It wasn't fair_.

“Lyndon... that's _absurd_! You can't help me in this! You can't even harm him!” The hunter argued furiously.

“ _I don't know!_ I can do something! I'm not _useless_! I can't just stay behind and do nothing! Not this time! I can't sit here and wait for you when you might not even make it back, you _always_ -”

“ _You have to stay because_ _I cannot bear the thought of losing you!_ ” Jack blurted, and then his eyes went a little big in surprise, as though he definitely had _not_ meant to say that. No one who ever really _knew_ Lyndon would ever say that, so it must have been a mistake, but any protests Lyndon had left died in his throat and he just gaped at the Demon Hunter like an idiot. He could count on one hand the number of people who could render him speechless. Jack lurched forward a little and dragged Lyndon into a feeble embrace, hands trembling. Neither of them glanced at Tyrael who was undoubtedly just bloody _there_.

“Please... _Please_.” Jack said against the side of his head.

And Lyndon, weak as he was, could never _ever_ refuse him when he begged him like that. And damn if he didn't give in right away. “Alright.”

“Promise me you'll stay here.” The hunter whispered.

“I... I _promise_.” He ground out, but then, of course, he could never let anything be and had to throw in a petulant “Happy?” on top of it. On top of _everything_.

Jack loosed a heavy breath, then released him, stepping back a few paces and pressing his mouth into a thin line. “No.”

“Right...” That made two of them.

Instead of scowling, Jack smiled at him, which made the tremendously tight knot in his chest loosen ever so slightly. And then he said: “I think your brother would be proud of the person you've become.”

And wow, rendered speechless twice in less than five minutes, that must have been a new record. The grief and guilt at his brother's mention came again, but they were less now, and he was beginning to believe that yes, it _could_ get better with time and that there was a light at the end of this black pool he had been drowning in ever since he had seen Edlin sprawled dead in the belly of that Hellish dungeon.

Speechless, but in the end he always thought of something. “Yes. He would approve of that. He'd probably be here with us.”

“Yes.”

They stared at each other a few moments, and there was so much to say, and it would be so _easy_ to stop him, to say something. But he just didn't. Apparently he still wasn't done living his life as a coward.

“I'll be back soon.” Jack said, ever confident as he backed away from them toward that glowing doorway, looking more like a shambling zombie, barely able to stay on his own two feet.

“Right, see you soon.” Lyndon managed to say, and it felt more like something he was supposed to say, rather than something he truly believed.

“Good luck Jack.” Tyrael said, Lyndon had nearly forgotten he was there.

“Thank you.” The hunter said, and then he was gone through that wretched door into oblivion, and Lyndon was left standing there wondering if this was the last time they would ever see each other, and just how royally he had cocked everything up to allow this man to fall in love with him.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Jack squinted in the whitish light as he left the dark hallways behind. His mind felt clear for the first time in days, sharp as the edge of a knife. This horrid mess would come to an end soon, and there was no one left to worry about, there would only be himself and the angel of death. All he needed to do was to complete this last task, and then he could sleep for an eternity. Quite suddenly the walkway beneath his feet became uneven, broken up and crumbling as pieces fell away and hovered in the empty space outside of the path. As he progressed, he felt more and more certain that the heart of the fortress was a different place altogether, not quite on the same plane as the rest of Pandemonium, but a realm all its own, much like the fabled Arcane Sanctuary.

Then he saw it, floating there in the empty space below him like an incredible pulsing heart, a massive, dark orb so completely black that to look upon it invited a clawing madness that scraped at the edges of his sanity. The screams that issued forth from that orb were long and agonizing, and he knew with certainty that he was neither in Pandemonium nor in any other known realm of existence, but in the very den of the beast himself, a home of Malthael's own making.

No wonder no one could find him for years and years.

The giant black ball was so large it could have been a small moon, and it _churned,_ writhing and twisting like millions of schooling fish swirling amongst each other. So many tormented souls, it was almost too horrible to look upon, but it was nearly impossible to pull his eyes away. As he continued along the orb of souls fell mercifully out of view, and a circular chamber ahead took up his entire focus, because in the very center stood the angel of death.

Malthael was very still, skeletal wings lilting gently as though in a soft breeze. Jack's breath ghosted in front of his face. The angel's armor was a deep silvery grey, muted and burnished dark, no longer the bright silvers and golds of Heaven. He held a silver chalice in his hands and his pointy-hooded head was tilted forward as he stared deep into whatever liquid might have filled it.

Jack clutched his crossbows tightly, nearly vibrating with energy, exhilaration and dread warring violently within him. Malthael seemed to have not yet noticed him, he had surprise on his side. Now was the moment. Now. _Now._

 _"I heard a sound and did not know what it was. I sought wisdom within the chalice, but there was none.”_ Malthael said in a low, resonate voice, startling him and he froze, fingers curled tight around the triggers of his weapons.

“ _The sounds called to me, and I knew them: human souls... but I did not know from where._ ” The angel continued, unmoving. Jack approached cautiously, moving slowly toward the center of the room where Malthael stood, knowing that the angel already knew that he was there. Perhaps he could take this chance to get the answer to the great question he sought. He knew _what_ Malthael was doing, but he did not know _why_.

_"I brought myself to Sanctuary, where humans dwell.. but the souls did not call me from that place. I searched the breadth of creation, always following the sound - always the sound... and then, I understood: Pandemonium, where the Worldstone once rested."_

_"You can see them Nephalem.”_ He said, addressing Jack for the first time, then he gestured one gauntlet covered hand toward the undulating ball of suffering madness that lay unseen below them _“The souls swirl and writhe like worms in a corpse. I now know the truth of mortals: all paths lead to death... whatever their struggles, whatever their triumphs, they die. That is Wisdom."_

“Mankind has struggled long to be freed from the meddling of demons and angels! We are not _play things_. We have _lives_ , and we deserve to live them!” Jack growled angrily, just feet from him now.

Malthael inclined his head slightly, acknowledging his words. _“Even when you pull them from the blackness, giving them a few more moments of wretched existence, a mere drop in the bottomless ocean of time, they are not grateful, they do not change. Once the peril is over they go back to attacking one another like animals.”_

“I do not ask for their _gratitude_. The actions of a few should not damn an entire race. Humans are overwhelmingly _good_.” Jack hissed. Speaking to the angel felt futile, he sounded so certain of his actions. Someone so obviously insane likely could not be reasoned with. If the angel of Wisdom could go to such terrible lengths, it was obvious that there was nothing left of aspect he once embodied.

“ _Is that what you believe? Or only what you wish to be true?”_ Malthael asked.

Jack thought of his kin, mankind. People who fight to survive, the strength they displayed, the desire they had to live peaceful, meaningful lives. The kindness they showed to one another despite the wretched world they were forced to live upon. He was a pessimist, certainly, he could admit that, but even he saw the bright burning spirits of those who loved and wanted to live. They sacrificed their lives for others. He thought of his father telling him and his sister to run as he died for them, the light leaving his mother's eyes, Lyndon gathering souvenirs for the children back at home, even though he claimed to hate them. _Sanctuary was home. Even for him._

“It is what I _know_ to be true!” Jack insisted.

“ _Where is your proof?”_ Malthael swiftly countered.

“Redemption, forgiveness, kindness, and _love_. People can change. They change every _day_. Demons do not change, but apparently, angels can.”

_"The souls of man show their potential for greatness, yes. They can stand for good like any angel in Heaven, or they can enact evil worthy of the lowest demon of Hell. The power of such a choice should not rest in the hearts of beings who are here for an instant, then flare and die."_

“You do not have the right to take that choice from us.”

The angel paused a moment, as though in thought, and he tipped his head forward again, looking deep within the chalice he held in his hands. _“Perhaps not, but I have usurped it. Humans cannot be trusted. They are born of angel and demon, but demons pervert whatever they touch. Your kind are corrupt, and are not worthy of the choice between good and evil. Angels and demons do not choose, as it should be."_

“Did you not _choose_ this path then?” Jack grit out. “Did you not _choose_ to fall?”

“ _No. The souls chose me.”_ Malthael insisted, then he poured the contents of the chalice out onto the floor. The liquid inside was bright and silvery and splashed merrily upon the floor like a brook tumbling over river stones. Soon though, the liquid turned thick and black and sludged over the stone surface like a thick molasses before it began to transform, taking the shape of a familiar skyline. The city of Caldeum, forming tar like across the floor. A great vision rose from the thick silver, of the Black Soulstone floating serenely over the city, taking the demonic pieces of every man woman and child, causing an instant, horrific death, their very souls shredded in half.

And all he could feel was _rage_ , it boiled hot in his blood, burning everything else away, and he felt heat rise to the surface of his skin, smoldering in the cold.

“ _Nephalem... the Black Soulstone journeys through the portal to Sanctuary. Even now, it spreads death across your world. And so ends, the Eternal Conflict. Soon we shall all become one, an_ _end to the pain. All conflict will cease and a new age will emerge. Death is the great equalizer. Can you not agree to end their suffering? In death, there is peace.”_

Jack bared his teeth, angry beyond reason. “ _No_. You have taken their lives away, you have stolen their peace. They linger in torment, neither alive nor freed in death. The reaping ends _now._ ”

“ _And are you their great champion Nephalem? The benevolent guardian for this sanctuary of vicious beasts?”_ The angel questioned with the slightest hint of amusement.

“Yes. As I _must_ be.”

“ _So be it. More demon than angel now, you have lingered in existence too long as it is.”_

“I could say the same of you.” The Demon Hunter hissed.

Malthael grasped his twin scythes tightly, tilting his head back and folding his arms firmly across his chest in the likeness of one laid to rest, the chalice lay forgotten on the floor, the sparkling liquid of knowledge rotting to black, shapeless once more. Jack's hands were stiff and aching from how tightly he gripped the handles of his weapons. Ready. Always ready.

“ _You will be the last of your kind. For a few moments.”_

In an instant, Malthael rushed forward, blades curving sharply and singing by Jack's ear. Sharper than razors, sharper than what any Sanctuary born blacksmith could have crafted. Perfect, Heaven forged implements of destruction, and a promised whisper of death should he make even a single mistake.

They fought, far too close for comfort. Blades sliced at him like a flurry of attacking birds, cleaving by his face, his torso, his legs, barely missing him every time. Jack darted around the circular room, fighting to stay even just a step ahead of the angel.

_He's faster than me-_

And despite his anger, despite his desperation, he was just so _tired_. His limbs felt sluggish, like he was moving through mud, his joints clogged with sand. He had yet to even have a _chance_ to fire and _oh_ -

He moved his left hand up, crossbow gripped tightly, to block a certain blow from those impossibly sharp blades and the crossbow took the brunt of the blow, splintering to pieces, just barely saving his limb. He had only a moment of deep regret for the loss of the weapon he had meticulously designed before he was forced to move again to save himself from another slicing strike.

The angel of death made an impatient sort of sound, and moved back to the center of the room away from him an Jack gasped, catching his breath before firing a torrent of arrows. The angel deflected many, splitting them apart in the air, but there were some that, blessedly, struck home.

And Malthael _growled_ , one hand pulling an arrow free from his chest, silver blood spilling forth from the wound, and with it, a surge of hope. _If it bleeds, you can kill it-_

 _"You are imbued with the power of death. But that will not save you. For that is not the only weapon I possess."_ Malthael said, then lifted his hand. Patches of dense fog formed on the floor in several places, pooling low around him, then swirling around the chamber. When Jack looked closer, he could see dead, black-eyed faces swarming in the mist. A cloud brushed his foot and he suddenly felt his meager reserves of energy draining away like water through a sieve.

Horrified, he lurched away, forcing himself to move. He weaved quickly around the deadly pools, firing volleys of arrows, most of which did not meet their target. He grit his teeth in rage.

Again Malthael moved right into his space and it was all Jack could do to avoid being cut to pieces, he wasn't sure how long he could keep it up, if he didn't do some damage soon-

He unsheathed his own blade to replace the lost crossbow, there was a fierce, immediate ring of metal meeting metal, and then a horrible screeching grate as the blades scraped against each other-

-and his blade gave, cracking in half, the top piece shattering off and spinning uselessly over the floor to stop in the thick tar of knowledge lost-

-and he moved back, just fast enough to earn a cut above his right eyebrow, leaking burning blood into his eye, but not slow enough so that his head went spinning after his ruined blade. So at least, there was that. He reached into his pocket and threw a handful of flash powder, creating a burst of light and thick smoke, a trick from Lyndon's book that he had never been more grateful to know. The diversion gave him enough time to vault away, gaining some distance, he had only _seconds_ -

Jack hastily tied a bola shot to a grenade, looping it through the ring of metal. He lit it, launched it, and watched, heart in his throat, as the spinning rope wound tight around the angel's arms, pinning them to each other. The ensuing explosion damaged Malthael's metal armor, and there was more of the silver blood, but his great victory of the moment was sending one of the short-handled scythes flying from the angel's grip into the shadows at the edges of the room. A fitting revenge for his own lost weapons.

Hissing, Malthael raised his hand again, and black, crawling spirits crawled up over the rim of the room, creeping towards him like a horridly lucid nightmare. He had no choice but to turn on them, firing arrows into their black, gaping mouths and eyes to save himself from being overwhelmed. Gods, he was so tired, everything was dragging, grinding slow and heavy with a bone deep chill that exhaustion made horrendously worse.

And as the last angry ghost evaporated beneath a flaming arrow, Jack missed when Malthael moved again, getting himself out of the way a mere second too late. One sharp blade sliced deep into his back and he yelled at the sudden, piercing pain of it. He could smell his own blood, cutting sharp and coppery through the air that reeked of oblivion, more real than anything. Warm wetness poured thick down his back, and he likened that it was only his heavy leather armor that prevented his spine from being severed right then and there. _Stupid_.

He spun to face the angel-

-But he felt his leg buckle, dragging him to his knees. He screamed in his head, _GETUPGETUPGETUPSTUPIDUSELESSGETUP-_

_He couldn't get up._

Malthael approached him again, almost leisurely, raising his blade for the killing blow and he couldn't get up-

_(So tired.)_

_USELESS. GET UP. Gods, Halissa-_

An arrow pierced deep into the chest plate of the angel of death, and then four more followed in rapid succession.

_What?_

Malthael roared in rage, in pain, and Jack turned his head, at least he had the strength to do that and-

_Bastard, you promised-_

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Lyndon carefully navigated the crumbling walkway, swallowing his fear down in a heavy gulp. It was easy enough to give Tyrael the slip, they had been moving somewhere further away, somewhere supposedly safer to wait for the Demon Hunter, as though such a place even existed in this wretched place, but he didn't think he'd have much time before the former angel would catch up with him and drag him back, wounded as he was, and it wasn't as if Lyndon was _happy_ that Tyrael was hurt and slow right now but... well... he was glad he had more time now than if Tyrael was in peak condition.

Tyrael wasn't stupid, he knew that Jack would need all the help he could get for this, and even if Lyndon had very little to offer in the way of damage, he could at the _very_ least wave his arms and jump around yelling. That ought to be distracting.

It was all he had at any rate, and, stupid as it was, it was certainly better than _nothing_.

Something squirmed in his bag, and nervous, Lyndon yanked it off of his shoulders and opened the top-

-and promptly received a face full of some kind if silvery smoke. _What in the Hells?_ He waved his hand around rapidly to dispel it, wondering if something in his bag had somehow caught on fire, but what he found were two happy looking ferrets and a steaming bundle of silvery arrows.

Of all the _frustrating_ ... how did they always get into his bag?! He _distinctly_ remembered pulling them out and leaving them in their loot chest back in the Enclave and-

-He stared at them, blinkly sweetly up at him as though he were the greatest thing in the world, and oh...the _arrows_ .... they were silvery, just like Jack was now, that odd _silvery_ aura, when they'd been _black_ before and, _ohhhh_ -

_They had the power of the dead too! He could hurt that rotten angel bastard!_

Closing his bag quickly and pulling it over his shoulder he raced down the walkway even as it fell away, an endless moonlight on all sides and a black ball of nightmares bigger than he could possibly bother to even _begin_ to comprehend at the moment so he decidedly _didn't._ He ran, too giddy with nerves and adrenaline to even feel afraid of what he was doing, only thinking of how he could do _something_ , he could do something and that wasn't _nothing!_

And when he made it there, it was almost too late. He saw Jack on his knees, blood on the stone, and _nononono!_ Without any thought at all he loaded up a silver arrow and fired it right at Malthael.

The arrows hit, and they _hurt_ him. _It actually worked!_ Elated, he fired more and they pierced the angel's heavy armor, sinking deep into whatever lay beneath, bleeding silver and he laughed, feeling crazy.

Then Malthael was in front of him, angry, so angry at _him_ , and Gods- Jack please get up now, now is the time when you should be getting up to pull me out of the jaws of the beast again and-

-there was nothing more to be done.

Lyndon grinned at the angel, even as he hurriedly tried to fit another arrow into the slot on the crossbow, fingers slipping just slightly. “ _Hahaha!_ ” Laughing right in the face of death. He didn't know why he wasn't afraid, because he should be, _Gods he should be_. But time, he gave Jack _time_ , and he'd never fully appreciated just how _precious_ time was now that he didn't have any more.

He had broken every promise he had ever made, but at least he knew he had done this one thing right.

_Jack I'm so sorry._

But maybe it wouldn't be so bad, maybe there would be stars and a great big dragon like Halissa had said, _maybe Edlin would even be there to greet him and he wouldn't be angry with him at all, maybe-_

The last of his thoughts were abruptly cut off as his soul was forcefully ripped from his body.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on the origins of the name Lyndon:
> 
> The internet tells me that in English, the meaning of the name Lyndon is: 'lime tree hill', 'lives by the linden tree', or 'a field of linden trees'.  
> It is said that people with this name have a deep desire for a family and a need to work with others and to be appreciated. They tend to be creative and are talented at self expression. They are drawn to the arts, and tend to enjoy life to the fullest. They are the center of attention, and like the limelight. They are sometimes reckless with both their energies and with money.
> 
> Wikipedia told me that in German folklore, the linden tree is the 'tree of lovers,' and in the Nibelungenlied (The Song of the Nibelungs) a medieval folktale of German origin based on a traditional recounting of events amongst the Germanic tribes in the 5th and 6th centuries, the hero Siegfried, bathes in the blood of a dragon in order to become invulnerable. While he does so, a single linden leaf sticks to him, leaving a spot on his body untouched by the blood, and thus he has a single point of weakness.
> 
> =+=+=+=+=+=
> 
> "Pleeeease, no hurt, no kill. Keep alive and next time good bring to you!" -Zooheaded the Weak


	22. The One I Would Have Died to Save

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope you had a suitably spooky Halloween and an informative Dia de los Muertos!
> 
> =+=+=+=+=
> 
> “Our foes are endless.”  
> “Do you tire of it?”  
> “No. I will kill them no matter how many come.”

_Darkness and light entwine_  
_everything is all the time_  
_All around you points align_  
_everything is all the time._  
- _Apocryphon_ , The Sword

 

 

“ _Do you see? In the end all bow to death. Your world dies. There is nothing to save.”_ Malthael said quietly as he stepped back from Lyndon, wrenching a thick arrow free from his breast plate with an agitated sound, blood pouring thick quicksilver from the wound.

And time ceased to exist.

Jack saw Lyndon hit the ground, but he did not need to see the dull glassiness of his eyes to know that he was dead. The aura of life that had hovered about him was gone, snuffed out as easily as a candle flame, and he'd been unable to do anything to prevent it. There was a fissure inside as everything within him seized up and rusted, ground to a halt, and he thought vaguely that it was like he was fourteen again, reliving the exact moment when everything he had ever loved had been taken away from him.

_He's coming back now, try to get up again-_

Full appreciation of the devastation that knowledge wrought inside him was, at that moment, quite beyond his grasp. There was nothing to feel, what remained was a wasteland, a black hole that would suck everything else into it. Jack was moments from death, which would consequently take the entire human race with him, and all he could think of was Lyndon's laugh, his lopsided smile to conceal a crooked canine, the way he obsessively smoothed his hair back, his terrible puns, his stupid mustache, how his mouth felt, the way he always put mustard on halved boiled eggs, and Kormac though it was so _disgusting_ , and how he would flush and look away and act angry when he was embarrassed, and a thousand other little things Jack had burned into his memory. He'd never see them again. Never see _him_ again.

_Unless..._

Malthael raised his blade high, the back-swing before the killing blow. _“In death, there is peace. You need but die.”_

_Yes. He's right._

It was startling how quickly his priorities shifted. There was nothing left for him here, his peace had been taken from him and with it, all that remained that tied him to life. He knew then with a crystal clarity the simple truth that he was not meant to have contentment or happiness. His life was a desolate, miserable slog of unending wretchedness and he did not want it anymore. Too much of his will to continue had been placed in the existence of one person. He tried to think of Kormac and Eirena, everyone back home, to continue for _them_ , but it simply wasn't enough.

_He was free to die._

Lyndon lay very still on the floor, his eyes open, but unseeing. He looked as though he could get up at any moment, but Jack knew that he never would again. _Would he get up again and come for him? Please don't. I can't-_ But it was suddenly alright, if Jack could let go of life, would it be too much to let go of everything else as well?

It would have been easier, to stay kneeling there and let death take him, and he _wanted_ that, desperately, but he had long grown used to the deepest desires of his heart going unfulfilled. _If only for the moment_. Jack thought he had cast love away, burned it from his soul so he would never suffer that pain again, but he found that he loved an old hunter in the north, and a raven, carefully raised from an egg. He loved a pair of ferrets purchased from a rotten man in Lut Gholein, he loved a bat he failed to save, he loved a wolf that vowed to follow him, he loved his mother, father, and his sister. A young woman from over a thousand years ago, a Templar unearthed from the belly of a cathedral, a blacksmith, even a jeweler and perhaps a mystic as well. He loved Leah, and now he loved a thief with everything he had that remained. He hadn't purged love from his heart at all, he'd just forgotten how to recognize it, and it was foolish of him to think that someone so alive couldn't ever possibly die.

_But he did, didn't he? You saw-_

Jack got to his feet, tiredness gone, pain gone, avoiding certain death from a curved blade. Malthael snarled, angry at the miss. It was odd, he thought, how quickly things could change. In a night. _In a moment._

“ _Death is the void, and all mortals fear it.”_ Malthael hissed at him.

“No. There is nothing left to fear anymore.” Jack said.

Hatred still clawed inside of him, howling that it had not yet been placated, that punishment had not yet been dealt, but even simple hate was not enough. Death had taken everything from him, but now he was not driven by hatred, he was not driven by fear. He was not driven by desire, duty, or any rationale. He could no longer feel any of these, all that remained was retribution.

_Vengeance._

Cold and hard and final.

_Malthael had the Black Soulstone in his hand-_

The flood of power was like a spool of thread unwinding within him, pulled on by an unknown force. Bright, golden light was humming through the veins in his arms, shining through the leather armor. He supposed that it should have been concerning, but he couldn't bring himself to be. He couldn't bring himself to feel much of anything. He was no longer _even_ himself. He kept thinking that death had snatched away the only peace he had ever known since his family had been taken from him. He'd have to die to get it back.

But with the angel alive, even death would not bring freedom. In death, there was peace, yes, he would have it. _Malthael had to but die._ He would see him burn for this. He would have vengeance.

Unbeknownst to him, hazy wings spread outward from his shoulders as they had so many times before, but they had been black then, and most recently silver. Now they shimmered gold with raw energy as the platform was set alight in flames.

_He didn't have to worry about hurting anyone anymore, he was already gone. Malthael shattered the stone, and absorbed the fragments into himself, but no matter, he was uncoiling now and he would not be stopped-_

There was a tempest of red lightning, flaring outward across the circular room and Jack recognized the attack as one of Diablo's and it curved around him like water around a stone, a shield of light protecting him. His remaining crossbow shattered in his right hand from the force of releasing energy, splinters of it in his fingers. He didn't care. Backbone, eye and carapace were uncoiling with flickering spectrelights and he would _not be stopped_. He could die when it was done, and oh, please _-_ He _prayed-_ Please, Akarat, otherworldly guardians, or any of the thousands of both named and unnamed gods who could have been here with him in this moment and might have been listening -even _Shen_ \- _please let it kill him_. He didn't want to be alone anymore.

The desire to die rose unhindered to drown him. Fear and relief, despair and joy, mixing together like paint colors to form an ugly brown mess. Too much had been taken, losses had kept coming like water swirling down a drain, steady in pace and endless in volume. He could not lose anymore or there would be nothing left of him but a pile of hair and bone and blood, too clotted together to fit through that drain and see the black end of it all.

_Nothing left now._

_"The end is inevitable."_ Malthael again, throwing all the vileness of the great demon lords in a desperate bid to kill him.

_Yes. The end. He wanted starlight and dragon scales. He wanted calfskin and sandalwood, sunrise and summertime and birdsong. Pine trees and blankets of moss. He wanted his family. And coffee. That would be nice too._

Eyes that blazed chromatic, twin infernos that rivaled the heat at the core of the world, stared deep into the darkness shrouded by a pointed cowl. A clawed hand, what he thought might have been his hand, he couldn't tell - _so much light_ \- lunged forth into that black void and grasped what lay within in one swift movement. A skull inside, shrouded in black, _so human_ , its mouth open. He hooked his fingers into the sockets of its eyes and let vengeance pour forth, black and gold, and red fire. The smell of tombs, of burning bodies.

_Then screaming and light._

Malthael erupted in a freedom of souls that burst forth from his body, and there were voices, cold and wind swirling around him. But still he felt a _burning_ , he prayed it was death taking him, then everything was quiet and still and _please_ , _just let him have this. Please just let him be dead pleaseplease and-_

- _and_... and... Someone was _coughing_. And it wasn't him.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Tyrael stood transfixed by the display before him.

He had come looking for Lyndon, he could not understand how the thief had escaped him so easily and so completely, but he knew the Demon Hunter would not want the man to come to any harm, and Tyrael admitted that the scoundrel had become a friend to him over time, so he had gone after him, hoping to save the reckless man from a horrible fate and to remove any and all distractions the Demon Hunter would surely already be facing in a duel to the death for life itself.

But he had been too late. And he had seen.

He had seen Lyndon die by Malthael's hand, soul stolen away leaving an empty shell behind, and he'd felt an incredible sense of loss. Not only for failing the thief, but for failing Jack as well. But _then_ , there had been an eruption of incredible power to rival the exultation of Uldyssian. The light of making and the proof of the power the merge between angel and demon could produce. His poor brother wisdom... was finally freed from his madness at last, and made ash upon the wind. In that moment, Tyrael knew the bottomless strength contained within the fragility of mortal hearts.

Mortal hearts that even still, were _not_ immune to corruption.

Jack had done the impossible, he had defeated Death and saved all of mankind. He hunted demons to protect innocents and could best the greatest champions of Heaven and Hell alike. But he was fragile, so _dependent_ on others. Either because they needed him to be their champion, or because he needed them to keep Hope and happiness alive within himself.

Jack might one day be tested. An emotional creature such as he had the risk to fall to corruption and become the greatest enemy in all of Creation. And then there would be nothing left to protect humanity, or Heaven, or any other realm.

Tyrael prayed that his dear friend would have always have the strength to walk in the light.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

 _Voices. Thousands of voices screaming with the terrible need to get out, to escape, along with a horrible feeling of being trapped, of being lost and forgotten even amongst thousands... hundreds of thousands of voices. It was so dark, there was nothing to see, just a horrible blackness. Gods where was he? Where_ was _he? The afterlife? Was this the great ending everyone feared and prayed on their knees and sacrificed everything to escape? It couldn't be. It's too awful, he didn't want to be here..._

_Edlin-_

_Jack-_

_Why did he feel so alone here?_

“Lyndon get up!”

_What?_

“Lyndon get UP!”

_A voice, so familiar, he knew that voice, but who?_

“Lyndon!”

_How could he get up? He couldn't feel anything but suffocation and loneliness and trapped misery, please it's terrible-_

“UP!”

_But he would try._

_If they said so then -gods he knew that voice- he would try._

 

_=+=+=+=+=+=_

 

Lyndon woke with a jerk, feeling as though he had fallen from a great height and landed hard on his back. All the air felt forced from his lungs, and he gasped, trying to breathe, and coughed instead. Immediately he was aware that every little bit of him _hurt_. He ached and felt bruised all over, and he wondered if he'd perhaps been trampled by something large and nasty. It was _cold_ here. Still gasping for breath, he choked on air that reeked of lightning strikes, pins and needles waking in his limbs and he sat up gingerly, holding his head. Immediately, blood poured from his nose in a stream and he sniffed, putting his sleeve to his face and blinking.

He must have done _something_ right, only the right things hurt this much, but what the Hell _happened_?Lyndon noticed that he was smoking, but ahhh, thankfully _not_ on fire (this time). Good. Very _much_ good. And _Jack_ was there, not a few feet away from him on his knees just as he had been when Lyndon had come to save him... then he'd left him? _Had_ Lyndon left? Hadhe gone somewhere...? Malthael was not there, but there was a humanoid shaped figure made of ash lying upon the floor that looked an awful lot like him.

Did... did they win?

Jack was staring at him as though Lyndon really _were_ on fire, or had turned pink and purple, and Gods, he looked _awful_ and hollowed out like there was nothing left... and was he glowing?

“Am I _dead?”_ Jack breathed, and the sick, desperately hopeful tone of his voice made something in Lyndon's chest start hurting a little bit more than everything else did.

_Something was wrong._

“Noo...?” Lyndon answered breathlessly, making a move to get up and move closer to him, terribly confused.

And Jack's eyes kindled fire. _“DREADFUL APPARITION DO NOT LIE TO ME! I WATCHED YOU DIE!”_ The hunter screeched, it was like a whip-crack, like a snake striking, and Lyndon flinched back, startled, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. Jack looked mad, he _sounded_ mad. Bloody _insane_. What had happened? Lyndon snuffled and sneezed blood, scowling, then wiped his hands over his nose, swallowing half of it and making a face, then finally, wobbled to his feet.

They were only yards apart, and by all rights they should have been falling into each other's arms like the most sickeningly sweet lover's reunion imaginable, but something was _wrong_ . Jack wasn't getting up and something was terribly, _terribly_ wrong.

“I'm really bad at lying to you _remember_?”Lyndon said very slowly and clearly. “I'm _not_ dead and neither are you.” Lyndon paused and tipped his head back and swallowed again. He felt like a few screws had been knocked loose in his skull, and he thought he would be nursing a terrible headache fairly soon if his sodding nose didn't stop pouring like a decidedly gory fountain.

Jack furrowed his brow and blinked rapidly, staring at the floor then back at Lyndon in pathetic confusion. Gods, had he hit his _head_ or something? What was _wrong_? Jack's right hand was bloody and oh, _blood on the stone_ \- was he hurt? There was golden light pouring from his shoulder blades, like the wings of the angels, undulating gently, but fading slowly like the dawn and Lyndon staggered several paces, closing the distance between them until he fell down hard on his knees next to the Demon Hunter. More bruises, great. It would be really nice if someone would just carry him out of the wretched place, but Jack didn't look like he was up to the task at the moment. He didn't look like he was up to doing much of _anything_ except...

Oh, shaking. He was _shaking._ But they'd won hadn't they -and _oh thank Akarat_ , the relief was too big to even register- shouldn't everything be _fine_ now? They could just go take a long nap somewhere?

“Pretty. Gold is my _favorite_ color.” Lyndon said gently, commenting on the wings of light that had yet to dissipate. Maybe Jack would smile, then everything could be alright again, right?

Jack barked a laugh, but it sounded more like a curdled sob. “ _Liar._ ” He whispered. “You wretched liar... you said it was _blue_.”

Lyndon touched him gently, winding his fingers through messy hair that was stringy with dirt and blood. Jack flinched at the touch, then went terribly still. Lyndon trailed a path with his fingers to the nape of his neck and back, then flattened his hand, dragging it down his back in an attempt to be soothing. He wondered if the golden light there would burn him, it was hot like an oven, but it didn't burn.

 _He wasn't icy cold anymore, he wasn't all silver and wrong,_ but Lyndon's hands came away bloody and he couldn't find a wound-

Jack spoke again, mouth trembling, “I saw... you _fall_ , he had just _discarded_ you... and...your eyes were... I _knew_ you were dead, I saw... you were _dead_ and I _couldn't-”_

_Oh no. Oh shit._

“You... I- shh, shh _breathe!_ ” Lyndon said hurriedly as the Demon Hunter started to heave great mouthfuls of air that didn't quite reach his lungs. “Where are you hurt?”

“A-and I felt I- Gods- I'm going mad, _I'm going mad!”_ The hunter continued, ignoring Lyndon's question, or not hearing it. _“_ And you- I- and I didn't- I didn't want to _do it_ anymore- and, and I- _huhhh._ ” He babbled, then hiccuped, sounding completely unhinged. Then all at once, Jack sagged against him, collapsing into a shivering ball in his lap like a great big dog, and wept with horrible weakness, drawing breath like a drowning man.

Lyndon immediately felt his stomach drop out in cold, sweating fear, his head clearing with it to icy crispness, dragging him back to full awareness in an instant. Quite suddenly, their great victory didn't even _matter_ to him anymore. He hurriedly stripped off his coat and threw it over the Demon Hunter like a blanket, terrified almost to the point of inaction. _He didn't know what to do!_ And _Gods_ , how many times had he jested about people crying over him when he died? ( _Had he died?_ ) Hundreds of times? But now that it was actually _happening_ , it wasn't the least bit funny at all. It _terrified_ him. It was _terrible_ and he felt wretched _._ Tears soaked hot into the thighs of his trousers, and he ran a hand along the valley of Jack's spine. Lyndon knew that the hunter was not doing well, had not been doing well for quite some time, but even still, beneath all his concerns and thoughts and worries, he still expected the Demon Hunter to _fix_ _everything_ for them, to be the strong one that they all relied upon. But he hadn't yet understood that the poor man just _couldn't_ anymore. It was all far too much to be inflicted upon one person.

And Jack caving in on himself in a nervous breakdown was the proof wasn't it? How badly he had wanted to die, and his hopeless rage at still existing.

Lyndon relied upon him the same way he had relied upon his brother when there had been nowhere else to hide from bullies. But Edlin was not here, and Jack _couldn't_ , so it was up to Lyndon to be the strong one for once. He could manage that couldn't he? There had been a time where he didn't need anyone else but himself. _Where had that person gone?_ He needed to come out from under the bed and from behind his brother's legs. His number one job was to _protect_ Jack after all, and _damn it all_ he meant to do so. And anyone who tried to stop him was going to get a knife through their bloody _face_.

And then Lyndon wasn't afraid anymore, the air seemed less oppressive and fresher. The darkness here was less deep, less horrible and hopeless. Akarat's mercy, they had _lived_ through this somehow, Lyndon thought they had used up all their nine lives on the Prime evil, but here they were.

 _Alive_.

_It was going to be alright._

Lyndon pulled the hunter up by his elbows so he could hold him proper, cradling his head in his arms, fingers petting, as though he could protect him from further pain. “Here now, it's alright. I'm _fine_. You're not going mad, you've just had a bad fright is all. You haven't slept. You're just _tired_.” Lyndon tried to reason.

“ _Tired of being alive.”_ Jack grit out wetly, his nose cold and damp against Lyndon's neck.

... _Gods_.

“Don't say such _nonsense_.” Lyndon said quickly. Right. They'd have to have a little dialogue about that. _Later._ “Where are you _bleeding_?” There was blood, here, but Lyndon didn't think he was still bleeding. Maybe it just looked worse than it was? Jack wouldn't answer him anyway.

Jack shuddered, and Lyndon wondered if he was cold. It _was_ cold here, and Lyndon wished for his coat, or at least a second one. The Demon Hunter needed it more than he did.

“There's something _wrong_ with me _._ ” Jack whispered.

“Sshshshshshsh, hush, _enough_. There's _nothing_ wrong with you. It's everything _else_.” Lyndon insisted. “You're fine. You're just _fine_.” And he pet his hair out of his face, trying to get the man to just _look_ at him.

Jack spoke to quietly it was nearly inaudible. _“I don't trust myself anymore.”_

“Then trust _me_ instead! We're _fine_.” Lyndon blurted immediately. “We're fine and everything's going to be alright.” He felt the barest nod against his throat, and that was good enough for him.

Lyndon held Jack's pale, bloodied and tear streaked face in his hands. _There you go, look at me._ His eyes were so damp, so bloodshot that they barely even looked human, but they were _blue_ again, and that was everything Lyndon needed to see.

“You and I are going to get up now, and we're going to leave this awful place. How's that sound? Good?” Lyndon asked, smiling a little crazily. Then he held Jack's head against his chest again where the Demon Hunter stayed trembling for many minutes.

“Shh, stop now. I'm okay. _We're_ okay. We're okay. You're just fine, shh you're fine.” Lyndon repeated softly. He'd say it a thousand times more if he needed to, so long as Jack believed him.

“ _Good._ ” Jack finally answered in a tired voice.

Good.

 


	23. All the Wants and Hungers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The siren sings a lonely song  
> Of all the wants and hungers  
> The lust of love a brute desire  
> The ledge of life goes under  
> -Blood, Milk, and Sky, Rob Zombie
> 
> Warning: porn

_With eyes of blood_  
_And bitter blue_  
_How I feel for you_  
_I feel for you._  
― _Like Suicide_ , Soundgarden

 

Lyndon stood in the middle of the street at Westmarch's snob hill, waypoint just behind him, watching fat flakes of snow land gently on the cobblestone ground. It was dark, but the moon was bright through the clouds, giving just enough light for him to see by. The snow fell thick, coating the ground just barely. Lyndon had never much cared for the people living in Westmarch Heights, or their stuffy better-than-thou houses, but at the moment, cold and tired as he was, he had been sure it was the most beautiful view in all the world.

It was good to be home.

The Demon Hunter was riding on his back, arms tight around his neck and face buried into the back of Lyndon's shoulder. It seemed to soothe him, but he had not stopped shaking, though perhaps he was just cold. It was awfully cold, but at least there was no wind to make it worse. The rogue's crossbow and backpack hung comically over his chest, making it difficult to walk, but he trudged along anyway. Jack wasn't very heavy, and that was more upsetting than it was relieving, but at least Lyndon was able to carry him without tiring too quickly.

Tyrael had eventually found them in the heart of the Fortress after Lyndon had made several failed attempts to get Jack to his feet. The angel had led them through the winding, dark pathways that seemed to clear before them, allowing them to easily navigate the way out without any confusion or wrong turns. As they'd walked, a curious thing had begun to happen in the fortress, there was the scent of pine trees and the sound of running water. Everything was crisp and clean and Lyndon had taken greedy breaths of the fresh, clean smelling air. Invisible birds chirped and the sound of beasts moving beyond the edges of the path became clearly audible. Before long, they walked upon moss and soil, ethereal trees towering over them as cranberry bogs grew, widening their path exponentially in all directions into a gentle, spirit forest.

“Uhm, it's suddenly _less_ awful here. What's happening?” Lyndon asked, nearly tripping over a white, shimmering rabbit that had run over his feet on the path. Was it real? It had _looked_ real enough.

“This is the first time a mortal has ever had control of Pandemonium Fortress, it always changes to suit its ruler and it is.... _interesting_ to see how the architecture differs from past conquerors.” Tyrael explained, a soft smile on his face. The angel had been quiet and tense since he'd found them, almost pensive. But something had cleared in his features, and Lyndon didn't feel quite so nervous anymore.

It was _pretty_ , far better than darkness and souls and screaming, but Jack hadn't lifted his head to look.

“Jack, do you like your new kingdom?” Lyndon had asked gently, teasing only a little, hoping that the man would feel a little better.

Jack lifted his head tiredly and glanced around for several long minutes before he'd said, _“I don't want it.”_ and put his head back down. He'd been silent ever since. Well then. Maybe he had fallen asleep?

Eventually they made it to the waypoint outside and Tyrael had promised to tell everyone that they were safe if they weren't planning on going back to the Enclave just yet. Convenient, because it just so happened that Lyndon _wasn't_. Jack was an intensely private person and very likely didn't want anyone to see him when he was like this. At least... not anyone else. The pride Lyndon felt at that knowledge was strange and muddled.

He hoped Eirena and Kormac were alright at least, along with everyone else in their odd little family. He wondered when he'd started thinking of them as such, then dismissed the thought entirely. He supposed he could always go check up on them tomorrow.

Lyndon hadn't been quite sure where he'd wanted to go when he'd stepped onto the waypoint, he knew he was supposed to have a clear destination in mind in order for it to work properly, but he'd been unable to think of anything except how badly he wanted to be somewhere warm and quiet and _private_.

So, here they were.

The relatively unburnt part of Westmarch heights, left abandoned by the nobles who weren't quite rich enough to have mansions, but were _certainly_ rich enough to live comfortably, and rich enough to have escaped the city when Malthael's wrath had rained down upon Westmarch. Though not all had made it out, Lyndon supposed. The ones who had come to the Enclave were safe at least.

He wondered what had become of the ones who had tried to escape on the road. There was likely a string of corpses and gloriously loaded carriages from here to Lut Gholein. How _horrible,_ how _upsetting_ , how...

_Lucrative._

Ahh, old habits.

He walked through the swirling snow, wondering which townhouse might be the safest, or which one just happened to strike his fancy, when Jack moved on his back, struggling to get down. Lyndon gripped his legs a little tighter, “Where do you think _you’re_ going? What's wrong?” He asked earnestly-

-and got his answer when Jack was unceremoniously sick all over him. Lyndon froze momentarily in horror of having been vomited upon, but then saw that _Gods, it was all red, it's blood, he's dying, can I get help? Kormac-_

“ _I'm sorry.”_ The weakly mumbled apology snapped the rogue out of his sudden, cold panic. He gave the mess a second look and noticed that the red was a rather _brilliant_ red, and a little sparkly-magicky. Not much like blood at all.

_Those wretched health potions. Of course, Lyndon you idiot..._

He sighed, willing his heart to stop racing. Sodding _Hell_. “It's alright.” This man was going to be the death of him. _Well, he already had been hadn't he? Aha..._

Even in his head, the joke wasn't the least bit funny.

Even still, this... reminded him of something, and he wasn't quite sure if the story was necessarily appropriate, but he found himself telling it anyway: “You know, when I had been whipped and sentenced to the stocks, it was originally supposed to be until sundown.” Lyndon began. “It was the middle of summer, on a clear day. I was _filthy_ from dung and old vegetables that the good and righteous people of Kingsport had graced me with. It had been _so_ hot. My brother got me out somehow though, after just four hours.”

Jack didn't say anything, but Lyndon knew he was listening. “I was so tired that he had to carry me home on his back like this. I had a sunburn, the wounds festered, and I nearly died.” He snorted a little bit. Talking about his brother still wasn't _alright_ , but he didn't feel like his chest was being slowly crushed anymore. It was getting better. “The scars are there, and the skin's never been the same, but Hell, women love men with scars and sob stories, and if I can't ever return the favor to _him_ then well... you're the next best thing.”

Lyndon could feel a breath ghost over the back of his neck in a soft exhale, but Jack still didn't say anything. He smiled a little anyway.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

In the end he'd picked a house at random. They all were relatively safe looking and it seemed like no one had been in this part of the city for quite some time. The building, a pleasant mix of stone and wood, and narrow in that way townhouses and brownstones were, was sandwiched between two miniature gardens that filled the alleyways between the neighboring houses replacing the filthy spaces that usually existed between structures that he was more familiar with. Lyndon sighed, nobles got _all_ the nice things. Bastards. He walked up to the large, wooden front door, arms aching from holding the Demon Hunter up so long, and tried the cold iron knob. _Locked of course_ , he'd have to put Jack down to pick it open and- oh, _the skeleton key_. He fished the key out of his pocket and pushed it into the lock. There was a small flash of light, like a spark or a blinking firefly, and the lock clicked, smooth as silk. As though the key were made for it.

Lyndon stared at the key in wonder, what a _marvelous_ little trinket!

Cautiously, he pushed open the door to a wall of darkness, wondering if there would be something in here that he would need to kill, or worse, bodies to remove. Lyndon closed the door with his foot, and the soft click of the lock sliding into place might as well have been a hammer striking steel in the sudden blanket of quiet. He skipped the flanking dining and sitting rooms, pitch black as the rest of the house, and instead made right for the staircase ahead of him, hauling himself and the Demon Hunter up with a bit of difficulty. Gods, he was _tired_. It was cold inside, but there was a feeling of safety that came from finally being indoors somewhere that wasn't a Fortress filled with an ex-angel's nightmares. Jack might have thought otherwise, so fond of his fields and woodlands, but he had not yet commented on their chosen lodgings (or indeed anything else).

The master bedroom was located easily, and appeared a bit disheveled, drawers were pulled out and some garments strewn about carelessly. It didn't look like your run of the mill looting. They'd left a lot of good stuff behind after all, but rather it looked more like a group of people had hurriedly packed their essentials and left, and that left more than enough for them.

Lyndon relaxed a little, and eased Jack down onto the ornate four poster bed, the top of the plush mattress at chest height, then removed his satchel and crossbow, dropping them to the floor with a groan of relief. The soiled shirt quickly followed and it was easy enough to grab the nearest clean looking tunic from the top drawer of a bureau. A bit big for him, but comfortable and clean and he'd always liked blue. His _favorite_. The hunter sat on the edge of the grand bed, looking pale and exhausted, his eyes were overly bright, glassy, and red rimmed. Carved out of his head in the likeness of a rather sad looking cemetery statue.

“Are you feeling alright?” Lyndon asked, placing a hand on his shoulder and petting gently.

Jack nodded. Ha.  _Right_. He looked terrible.

“Get in bed. I'm going to get something to start a bloody fire with.” Lyndon ordered, and turned to leave.

“Who's house is this?” Jack's voice, a little raw, a little quiet, but sounding a bit more like _his_ than it had in days.

Lyndon grinned back at him, “Does it matter?”

Jack didn't answer, so Lyndon drew a dagger and crept downstairs. He felt almost at home here, moving silently through the house. It was something he had done countless times before, and in homes far grander than this one. In a way it was almost comforting. _Nostalgic_. He took note of what he wanted to take and sell later- golden framed paintings and mounted trinkets -and found a cache of firewood piled in a cupboard under the stairs. The walls of the entrance hall were lined in a soft red velvet material he noted, and there was a sparkling, crystalline chandelier hanging above the entryway, the ceiling painted above it like a summer sky. The carpet runner lining the steps of the staircase looked like it had come from the finest rug merchant in Caldeum, and the rods holding the fabric down were solid silver. It wouldn't be _that_ difficult to pry them out of the wood. Lyndon laughed a little to himself at how absurd it all was. It wasn't that the house was _unusual_ or anything it was just...

...it was just good to be _home_ was all. So _good._

He went back upstairs, the armful of wood making his previously broken arm start to ache just a little. Jack had not moved, and Lyndon frowned, dumping the wood onto the floor, likely dirtying the rather expensive looking rug under the bed but... _pffft._ He pushed wood into the equally expensive looking fireplace, stacking it in a way that looked right from memory and looked through his pockets for matches. He burnt the ends of his fingers three different times before he finally started the wretched thing, filling the room with cozy light and blessed warmth.

The flickering shadows made Jack look impossibly worse, but at least the poor man would be warm soon. He was still wearing all of his armor, Lyndon's coat, and even his boots, and Lyndon was _beyond_ tired of seeing him just sitting there rather than sleeping like he should have been, so he went to him. Jack was currently staring at his un-gloved hands in a daze. The right one was bleeding. _Stupid bastard._ Lyndon made a rather impatient noise and undid the hunter's boots for him, they weren't the weird bird-like ones so it was considerably easier, but there were still _a lot_ of buckles. Why did everything have to have so many sodding _buckles_? The shoulder armor was easy, but the chest piece was a little more difficult. Jack helped, eventually, bloodied fingers unsnapping metal and undoing laces with practiced ease.

“There you go.” Lyndon said cheerfully, thinking that he'd be much more comfortable now, and more able to _go the Hell to sleep_. But Jack didn't move or say anything. Was he feeling alright?

Everything was left carelessly on the floor, and shoved to the side of the hearth. Jack looked smaller with all of it off, only Lyndon's borrowed shirt and his pants left. Removing the armor from his torso finally revealed the mysterious source of all the blood stains. There was a clean, horizontal slice over the man's back, and the once cream colored silk shirt was dark with drying blood. The cut went clean through the tattoo on Jack's skin, but instead of an oozing, painful wound, there was only scabbed over flesh, almost as though the wound had been cauterized. _Very curious_ , but at least he didn't seem to be in any pain or immediate danger. It was more concerning that Jack just passively let Lyndon do whatever he wanted to him while he sat there, too exhausted to do anything but just, well, _sit._

“Alright?” Lyndon asked again, concerned. “Your fingers are bleeding.”

“The crossbows.” Jack said, which wasn't really an answer at all, but Lyndon lit the lamp on the nightstand and sat down next to him to examine his hand. Sharp splinters of wood peppered his fingers, and the cuts were bloody. Lyndon remembered that Jack had mentioned his weapons being destroyed. He wondered why his hands still bled but the much larger wound on his back had been sealed. Perhaps it was because his crossbows were infused with so much demonic magic that not even the light could heal the wounds they caused? But he really didn't know, it was only a guess. Something Jack had said once about demons or something. Lyndon pulled out a pair of silver tweezers from his pocket that he used to pick locks and painstakingly removed the small pieces of tainted wood, tossing them onto the floor carelessly.

Jack just sort of _stared_ at him while he did so, leaning against him a little, eyes a bit unfocused, which Lyndon thought rather  _unnerving_ , but decided not to say anything.

When he'd gotten every bit of wood out, Lyndon went looking for the bathroom, and found one (he assumed there were more) branching off from the master bedroom. There was a large porcelain, clawfoot tub and a water pump, and everything was tiled. If the water worked... He moved the handle of the pump a few times and was overjoyed when a stream of water poured from the dragon's mouth faucet. The water was freezing cold, but if he could get it _heated_ somehow then he could indulge in a much desired bath. He fantasized about it for a few moments while he located a small towel, soaking it in water, then he found a glass in a nearby cabinet and filled it taking several greedy gulps before refilling it.

He scrubbed at the dried blood crusted beneath his nose that he'd forgotten about, renewing the coppery odor and shocking himself more awake with the icy fabric on his face. He rinsed it again until it looked clean.

Back in the room, he pushed the glass into Jack's free hand then wiped the blood and filth from the man's face, apologizing for the cold. Jack looked a little better after, but not much. If anything it showed how pale he had gotten all the more. Lyndon sat again and cleaned the wounded fingers while Jack thankfully took sips of water from the glass. Lyndon didn't notice when Jack set the cup down on the nightstand, engrossed in bandaging each finger individually, but he _did_ notice when a mouth moved over his jawline, lips grazing the edge gently.

 _Uhm_. Lyndon froze.

“What- ?" He asked, task forgotten, but Jack seemed to have been waiting for him to open his mouth because almost the precise moment he did so there was tongue in it, burning against his own like a hot coal.

Somehow, Jack had gotten _a lot_ better at this. Quite a likeable trait, being a fast learner was.

He tasted a bit like blood, a bit like sick, and a bit like that unidentifiable thing that he'd come to call just _Jack,_ and shit, _shit_ , he was so good. But...The one bloody time in his entire wretched life that this was the _last_ thing on his mind! It was almost like a cruel twist of fate, like the Gods themselves were cackling at his extreme misfortune because-

“You're... too _tired_.” Lyndon said into Jack's mouth-  _Gods his mouth_ -but it might have been a groan. And it was the most feeble protest he had ever given to get out of something like this, but at least it was _true_  this time wasn't it? Unlike so many excuses before it when really, she had just been far too hideous even for _his_ cellar standards, but he knew at least that this excuse was true. Lyndon knew it was true even as their tongues filled each other's mouths, and Jack's hands, one bandaged, one not, peeled his tunic off his shoulders and mapped their way up his chest, his back, and Akarat's tits he was so bloody hard it _hurt._

Lyndon was trying very, _very_ hard to be the responsible one here, and he thought Jack wedging himself into his lap was decidedly unfair. _I'm the_ _adult here damn it!_ He thought to himself as he dragged his tongue, flicking it over one pebbled, fawn colored nipple, earning some delicious sounds, then moving to the other to give it the same treatment. He'd practically torn the shirt off the Demon Hunter, not like it wasn't already ruined. _Sigh_ , his poor garment, maybe he could steal a new one. He dragged his fingers through the hair on Jack's chest and, yes, _hairy_. Men were hairy weren't they? He knew that. He'd certainly known it the other day at least.

Lyndon licked his suddenly desert dry lips. He had self control, _really._ The pupils of Jack's eyes were so large that they made his eyes look nearly black. This coupled with how bloodshot red they were in the whites made his eyes look rather unsettling. But Lyndon had seen worse things, and a ring of that pretty blue, darkened to midnight, was there so that made it alright. Lyndon held the back of Jack's head, fingers wound deep into that mane of black hair, he let his other hand travel to the rather insistent bulge between the hunter's long legs and _squeezed_ , then bit down gently at the juncture between neck and shoulder.

And Jack shuddered, a pitched whine escaping him an he tipped his head back, exposing his throat for more. What else could Lyndon do but comply? His pulse beat heavy in his neck - _but not too fast, he was alright_ \- as Lyndon could feel Jack rocking his hips into the palm of his hand.

Lyndon liked Jack's trousers, really he did. They looked nice on him and framed his arse perfectly, but as Lyndon struggled, one handed, with the ties that held them together, he was forced to resort to using both hands to unwrap the skin-tight leather from his legs and abandon the thick mane if hair he'd tangled his fingers into. Lyndon thought that he'd probably never hated any article of clothing as much as he loathed these bloody wretched trousers in this moment, then finally Jack was hot and hard in his hand, and well, _big_ , and Lyndon finally had him on his back and all to himself, and he'd never said he wasn't greedy.

The thief's clothes were on the floor in record time, years of practice making it easy. Lyndon didn't even care if they ended up in the fire, then he finally slotted their hips together and they _moved_ together, blessed _Gods_ , rutting like beasts in heat and moaning like ghouls. Lyndon had gone over this in his head a thousand times on a daily basis, step by step. He imagined that he would be gentle, that he would take his time, go slow, but his plans had crumbled around him literally within moments. They were both too hot for it, needed it too badly. Jack pulled Lyndon's head down with perhaps a bit more force then he'd meant to (with more strength than he was supposed to be able to conjure at the moment) and assaulted his mouth.

Well, what had he been expecting? Neither of them were patient men.

If they kept this up, Lyndon was going to lose it, and Gods he wanted to be _in him_ when he did. Needed it with a distinct intensity. Surely he'd die if he couldn't have him. But he let his hips roll a few more times, near addicted to the feeling of it before he forced himself to get up. Jack growled when he moved and bit the curve of his shoulder, pulling a startled sound from him.

“Two seconds! Two seconds!” Lyndon gasped out rather hoarsely, then nearly fell out of the high bed. _That was always the troublesome thing with men_ , he thought as he emptied his bag onto the floor like a madman , spilling two ferrets out with the mess of his things. _You needed more tools._ He glanced sidelong at the rather unhappy looking ferrets he had dislodged and muttered a heated, _“Don't judge me.”_ Then immediately felt utterly ridiculous because he'd allowed a pair of sodding _tube rats_ to embarrass him. But he quickly spotted his prize, the olive oil he used for his hair, then got to his feet, turning back to the bed and-

Jack had his hands around himself, arching into his own touch with a feverish groan, and just _looking right at him._ The way he was staring through the dark lashes of his hooded eyes made the room feel suddenly humid, and Lyndon felt dizzy. If Malthael hadn't quite killed him, then surely this view would finish the job.

_Right Lyndon, still not funny. Yes. Sorry._

He climbed back into the bed, hands shaking like he was fourteen again and it was the first time, his cock a chunk of burning iron between his legs, fire filling his gut. He poured oil into his hand, then spilled half of it with a particularly vicious curse. He kissed Jack's throat gently, and eased two fingers inside of him, moving them carefully. Jack made noises like he was in agony, like he was bloody _dying_ , but his muscles were like warm maple syrup and just yielded to the invasion. He didn't need much, honestly, but the desire to not hurt him, even though he knew it likely wasn't even possible, burned hot in his chest, and besides, he wanted to do it _right_.

“Good? Alright?” He asked, swallowing to wet his sandy mouth and got an immediate, “More _._ ” that made everything go dry and hot again.

He should ask again to make sure. “Are you-”

“ _More._ ” Almost a whimper, and his hips jerked, impaling himself on the thief's fingers further.

Lyndon smiled, “Whatever the gentleman _wants_.” and curled his fingers inside of him.

There was a sobbed release of air, then continuous shivering, and Gods, Lyndon could do this, just this all bloody night if only he would keep making those _sounds._ “Like that?” There was a litany of breathless pleas while he moved his fingers, driving both of them towards madness. Lyndon didn't have any more patience or self control left and poured what remained of the olive oil into his hand, letting it pool hot in his palm. He chucked the empty container over his shoulder, then finally _finally_ wrapped his slicked fingers around himself. He trembled from how good it felt, hot and slippery, almost good enough to kill him. It had been _so long._

He pushed his forehead into the crook of Jack's neck and breathed in blood, sweat and leather, and something else, something cold, then pushed inside him just barely. _Oh. Tight. Good._ Lyndon kissed his neck while they both gasped, and wound an arm around his lower back, supporting him. Lyndon was dying, He was fairly certain of it, but he sat still, making sure Jack was alright. He refused to let it hurt, he couldn't wait any longer. He _couldn't._  But he would.

Lyndon meant to ask if Jack was alright, but it somehow got scrambled on the way out of his mouth, coming out as more of a “Unngh?” Then Jack threw his long, coltish legs tight around Lyndon's waist, the heel of his high arched foot forcing him suddenly deeper, and _“Gods you feel so good.”_ and any other thoughts Lyndon had withered and died in his head as he started to move, and they were both just lost in it.

Jack was howling into his neck, noises unmuted, uncontrolled. He sounded almost as good as he felt, and there were fingers clawing sharp strips down his back and Lyndon knew it was bleeding. He could feel the coolness of drying moisture while sweat pooled at the dip of his lower back. He didn't care. It felt _good_. Jack could skin him alive if he wanted to, just as long as he didn't ask him to stop.

“Lyn...  _Lyndon-_ ” Jack grit out, voice sounding like a death rattle as every deep thrust stole breath away from him. _Don't say my name like that. Like I'm special. Like you-_ But Lyndon didn't say that, he kissed him instead, and continued to take him, feeling teeth grazing dangerously close to his adam's apple. Lyndon hoped Jack would not forget himself and bite him, but he also wondered if he even cared if he did. Lyndon kissed him when he could, and bandaged fingers trailed up into his hair to hold him in place almost violently, until Lyndon had to pull back to breathe, and they'd skim back down again to blaze red trails into his back, shoulders and arms. Lyndon felt himself getting agonizingly close and finally reached in between them to grip the hunter's neglected, throbbing cock in his fist and stroked a stuttered rhythm, trying to keep up with his own quick pace. Jack made a crumbling, shattered sound against his cheek and bowed up into him. Lyndon knew that feeling, when everything felt so damned good that you wanted to merge into the other- Jack was spilling and spilling and spilling in convulsions, sticky seed roping pearlescent over his belly, his chest and Lyndon's still gripping fingers. His body was clenching tight around him, hot as a furnace and-  _“Godsyeslikethatplease-”_  -Lyndon had to brace his hand against the headboard before his arm buckled because it had really started to _hurt_ , then he was releasing himself inside Jack like it was the only thing he had ever been brought into existence to do.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Lyndon wasn't sure how long he'd been laying there, but the fire had burnt noticeably lower and he had sprawled across Jack's chest, practically stuck to him. He laid there a few seconds more, blinking and aching and buzzing before he made to get up. When he moved, Jack jerked awake, eyes large- _had they both fallen asleep?_ -and blinking owlishly at him with an uncomprehending expression. Lyndon touched his head briefly in a sleepy greeting, then struggled to his feet. He stood on shaky legs, cradling his aching arm against his chest, then wobbled naked to the bathroom for another towel. He soaked it in icy water then held it out towards the fire until it steamed, then cleaned away the evidence of their coupling.

Jack jolted again when he was touched as though he'd fallen asleep in the few moments the thief had been gone, and “Hands and fingers grasping, clawing-.” The hunter gasped, his chest working hard in the aftermath of apparently _another bloody nightmare, Gods can't they just end-_ and when his breathing had calmed he closed his eyes then opened them again, as though struggling to clear his vision.

“I didn't want to sleep, because I was afraid I'd been _dreaming_. I keep dreaming.” Jack confessed to him in a quiet voice that sounded ruined, like a burnt out village. "I think I-... I'm not sure if I'm awake."

That simple sentence was rather heartbreaking. _It wasn't fair. He's so tired and it's not fair._

“Shshh, you're awake. But let me get you something...” Lyndon was digging through his bag again, or the pile of things on the floor that his bag had become, for the bag of tea leaves that Myriam had promised would bring some relief from all this, and he found a pretty dragon teapot on a vanity, _how lucky_ , and he filled it with water, hung it on the hook above the fire and waited, fighting sleep, for the water to get hot. Not hot enough to boil, but hot enough for the tea to steep properly.

The pot was steaming, Gods he was falling asleep on his bloody feet, and he threw a small handful of leaves in the mesh part at the top and waited impatiently until he could pour it into a glass. Curious, he smelled it an felt light headed immediately and had to close his eyes until the room stopped moving. Right, strong stuff. It had just better _work_ or he was really just going to stab someone in the neck with a knife.

Head feeling as though it were full of cotton, he managed to get Jack to sit up so he could drink.

"You're... real?" Jack asked him, lying back down after he'd practically chugged the entire glass. _Still thirsty maybe._ He was shivering again, and sounded completely out of his head.

"I've been told I'm difficult to believe, but I assure you I am both alive _and_ real." Lyndon replied, smiling slightly.

Lyndon wasn't even sure if Jack had heard him because by the time he'd finished speaking the man had passed out completely, going utterly limp as though he'd been struck in the head. _Good_.  Lyndon joined him in the blankets, crawling onto the mattress as though he'd reached the summit of some peerless mountain. Every muscle was working against him, trembling and aching and trying to get him to just quit before he could arrive at the destination of _bed_ , but he made it and burrowed in against Jack. It seemed as though there had been a barrier between them, built of death and fear and insecurity, but now it had crumbled away like a sandy ledge before a tide, and everything was _better_ somehow. He slept now, not sure of the moment when he had gone from dozing to restful sleep, not even sure if he'd been able to pull the blankets up, but he slept better than he had in months, perhaps even years, and at least for now, that was all that was required.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those ferrets tho.


	24. The Space Between Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright you've caught me, this isn't even an epilogue, it's just another long-as-fuck chapter that got so fucking long that I had to split it in half, and it's just me going “Ah shit!” and scrambling to wrap everything up and plant seeds of the future that I supposedly set up for myself. But hey, I introduced the fluff tag, so that has to count for something right? Right.
> 
> Title is from that Beatles song

_Under the linden-tree_  
_Upon the heath,_  
_There I lay with him. ―Alas,_  
_When you go there, you'll see_  
_The flowers beneath_  
_Crushed and trodden with the grass._  
_By the forest in the dale,_  
_Tandarady!_  
_Sweetly sang the nightingale._  
― _Under the Linden-tree_ , Walter von der Vogelweide

 

 

_BANGBANGBANG_

Lyndon didn't want to get up.

No. Scratch that. He _wouldn't_ get up. He refused. It wasn't happening. No one could make him, and yet some stupid, hammer-fisted bastard was banging on the front door. _His_ front door. This was _his_ house now, because... well, he said so. Lyndon pulled the blankets up over his head and moaned pathetically. He had a headache and every muscle felt as though it had been worked over with a rolling pin, his arm especially, was throbbing. All Lyndon wanted was to be _horizontal_ and _warm_ and curled up so nicely next to-

Wait.

He felt around with his hand, the sheets felt damp under his fingers. _The other side of the bed was empty!_

Lyndon was sitting up in an instant, blinking away the head rush in his skull. Weak light filtered in through the heavy midnight-blue window drapes, illuminating the room in a blue haze just bright enough for Lyndon to make out the distressing sight of Jack, down on the floor, and clinging to the bedpost like a drowning man in a tempestuous sea.

“What the Hell do you think you're doing?! Get back in bed _right now_!” Lyndon exclaimed, more concerned than anything else.

There was a pile of clothes spread out on the floor around the Demon Hunter, and he'd somehow managed to pull on a pair of- too short on the legs and too loose at the waist and not black at all, so that made them - _Lyndon's_ spare trousers, but hadn't seemed to have gotten any farther than that. _Had he been trying to answer the door?_ Come to think of it, why was Jack even _awake_ right now? Shouldn't that stupid leaf litter concoction have kept him asleep? The _Hell_... Lyndon rubbed his forehead tiredly, and eased himself out of bed, noting that the fireplace was out, but the ashes were still quite warm. What _time_ was it?

“Malthael.... I have to... kill Malthael.” Jack muttered, eyes darting around the room like a caged animal. Heat rolled off of the Demon Hunter like a furnace and his skin was shiny with sweat. His face, surrounded by a lank curtain of filthy hair, was ashen and the ever present circles under his unfocused eyes were bruise-dark.

Alright. _Someone_ was a little delirious.

Apparently, that tea _was_ in fact still working. Lyndon swallowed a mouthful of panic and tried not to wish for Eirena or Kormac or someone who would know what to do far better than he would and... thought about what to do next.

He knelt down next to Jack, wincing at the tightness in his calves. “ _Nooo_ , darling you've already done all that. What you have to do now is go to _bed._ ” Lyndon reasoned sweetly, hoping very much that he would not lose his balance and fall, or move too quickly and have to pry steely, sweaty fingers off of his neck.

But instead of attempting to murder him, Jack blinked at him with the same sad confusion he had displayed earlier. He was quite obviously _not_ playing with a full deck at the moment. Now if only Lyndon could be certain whether it was only because he was drugged up to his eyeballs on whatever it was that made up that tea, or because of the appearance of a sudden fever that threatened to burn him from the inside out.

_BANGBANGBANG_

Jack looked in the direction of the front door and uttered a soft sound of acute distress, then made an extremely sorry attempt to get to his feet, trembling with the strain of trying to lift himself unsuccessfully off the floor. And cutting through the concern, Lyndon felt an unfamiliar sliver of _rage_. Whoever was at the door was going to meet a messy end. He'd already decided.

But _first..._

“Shh, you're alright.” Lyndon soothed, then wedged an arm behind Jack's knees and the other 'round his back, and hauled him into his arms like a particularly sweaty, and decidedly smelly bride. His body screamed in protest, wondering just what in Akarat's name he was _doing_ because while Jack was a little underfed, it still didn't mean that he was _light_ by any means and he was so gods-damned _tall_ but _shitshitGodsmysoddingback_ at least he didn't have to bring him far _._ Lyndon dropped the hunter back onto the bed as carefully as his sore muscles could manage, his arm was _burning_ , then he nearly fell over because Jack had wound his corded arms firmly around his neck and then apparently decided that he didn't immediately want to let go.

For the time being, it was Lyndon's job to be responsible and make sane-person, adult-type decisions about things, but as he heard the door rattling on its hinges again from whoever it was banging on it like a pack beast in rut, he found it quite difficult to _not_ think about how he had been a top tier member of the Thieves Guild for a reason, and all the ways he knew how to make someone _bleed_.

But he didn't know who was at the door. That knowledge, while normal and domestic enough for perhaps any other period of time in his life, had become something else entirely. Jack was not here, at least not here _enough_ to do something should there be some horrible angry monster, or a Thieves Guild entourage, or even Malthael's sodding ghost come back to haunt them. But Lyndon was here, and he _would_ do something about it, not just because there was no one else to do it for him, but because he felt it was _his_ duty to do so. His, and his alone.

Besides they'd woken Jack up when he so _desperately_ needed to be sleeping, and Lyndon wasn't happy about that in the slightest.

“Jack, luv, you have to let go of me. I have to answer the bloody door and murder whoever's popped over for a visit.” Lyndon grit out as gently as irritation allowed. Jack tilted his face into the thief's neck and slurred. “Whass th'door?” His breath burning into his throat at about a thousand degrees.

Right. Brilliant.

“Go back to sleep. Don't worry about it.” Lyndon said as he untangled himself and tucked him back into expensive, but depressingly blood stained and _filthy_ sheets and blankets. Jack mumbled something that sounded a bit like 'kridershot,'then was asleep again almost immediately.

_BANGBANGBANG_

He slept through that too.

Lyndon found a blanket to wear around his waist, because if he was going to jam a dagger into someone's (or something's) eye socket, he was very well going to wear whatever the Hell he pleased. Besides, he didn't much feel like getting dressed (or doing anything that didn't involve sleeping) but it was _miserably_ cold outside the warmth of bed, so a blanket would do just fine. He wasn't planning on dying naked, funny as it would be. He gripped the hilt of his dagger firmly and wobbled to the stairs. He nearly fell at the top step, grace non-existent, but pressed his hand against the wall and managed to stagger to the bottom without killing himself or looking like too much more of a clumsy idiot. He readied the strike, visualizing planting the blade deep into the neck of whatever lingered on the front step and twisting it before he yanked it out again and _ahh_ , nothing like a little gruesome murder in the morning to _really-_

“Jack...? Lyndon? Are you here?” A voice. A familiar voice.

_What. WHAT._

_Lorath?_ That wretched, thick skulled, jelly brained, paste eating, Horadric _bastard_. Not the monster or Guild cronie he was expecting but Gods, maybe he was just going to kill him anyway. He was just going to do it and toss his idiot body in the canal.

Lyndon undid the three or seven locks that held the door firmly closed and cracked it open the barest centimeter, immediately squinting and wincing in the harsh light. There was snow on the ground, white and pretty and everything smelled clean and crisp, but it was wretchedly bright and cold and _miserable sun_. He was so cross that he could hardly see straight. And there stood Lorath, staff-spear thing in hand and blissfully unaware of how close he had come to being stabbed to death by a blanket clad ex-assassin who detested mornings.

“ _What_. Is. _Wrong_. With. _You?_ ” He hissed through the crack in the door. “Do you have any idea what bloody time it is?!”

“Oh, good morning Lyndon, and ah, yes, it's just past eight.” Lorath said in his typical oh-so-helpful way.

“ _Just past-_ past eight in the bloody _morning?!_ It's far, _far_ too early for me to be nice to you.”

Lorath frowned and pulled his hood back and mask of cloth away from his face. “I'm sorry to have, uh, _bothered_ you but-”

Lyndon swung the door open a little wider and leaned against the door frame, furious, then he sighed, hunching into his blanket against the cold air and massaging the bridge of his nose. Lorath's eyes traveled the length of him a little awkwardly, then looked away quickly. Lyndon remembered he wasn't really wearing anything that could be counted as clothing, but _Ha. Caught you._

“Do you know I was _dead_ a handful of hours ago? Literally dead. Is it too much to ask to get a little sleep around here?!” Lyndon snapped, he felt like he had a hangover, but hadn't had much more than a nightcap in days.

Lorath's face seemed to fill with questions, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. “Sorry...” The great wolf, that was outside Lyndon's field of vision made a happy sounding whiney-howl, shook snow off of her back, and skirted by his legs, bounding up the stairs behind him before he could do anything more substantial then barking a quick, _“_ Wha- _hey!”_

Lyndon squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth, playing with the dagger in his hands, and forced himself to calm down before turning back to Lorath. “What do you _want_?” He muttered tiredly. Then thought of something...worrisome. “More interesting than that, how did you _find_ us?”

"Myriam told me.” Lorath explained. _Sigh_. Of course she did.

“Is Jack in there?" Lorath continued a little anxiously. “I must speak with him, it's very imp-”

“No.” Lyndon said firmly.

“...No?”

“ _No_. It isn't “important” as you call it. Not important enough to wake him up after what he just went through.” Every word dripping acid. “If you were on fire right now it would only be _slightly_ more important.”

Lorath frowned. “I understand he must be _tired_ , but Malthael destroyed the Soulstone, the Prime Evil is-”

Lyndon balked and planted a hand over Lorath's mouth to silence him before that awful information had any chance to sink in. “Shshhshshsh!!! Shut _up_! Shut your idiot mouth! He is _more_ than tired, he is _more_ than done. Don't you understand how badly he needs a break from this? You run along now back to the Enclave and tell everyone that _anyone_ who tells Jack about the return of the great Prime sodding Evil before I do, will get an arrow through their thick skull and a dagger in their heart! Is that clear?”

Lorath gaped at him, “Uh-”

"Even more useful than that, you could send Kormac over so that he can do that healing thing he seems to be so great at. You can manage that yes?" Lyndon asked hurriedly. "Not too difficult for you?"

"I-"

“Great. Good. Brilliant. Now please _go away_ we're very busy.” Lyndon mumbled, pulling the blanket over his head like a hood and curling into it.

"Wh-what are you doing in there?" The Horadrim asked curiously. Gods, he'd never met anyone so thick. Maybe Brycen. No, no, _Kormac_ , definitely Kormac.

"I'll give you one guess." You _idiot_.

Lorath floundered, wringing his staff in his hands. "Uhm? I-I don't-"

"Are you _stupid_ or something? Look at me. What. Do. You. _Think_?"

Realization seemed to dawn on the poor Horadrim's pretty face, then Lyndon watched that face turn the color of a ripe tomato.

"I-I'm _sorry_!" Lorath exclaimed and then hurried away as fast as he could, though without actually running. Lyndon rolled his eyes and slammed the door, locking every lock his hands came into contact with, then shoved a chair under the doorknob for good measure. He had meant to imply that they were busy _sleeping_ , as any sane person should be at this hour, but he supposed Lorath wasn't wrong. Useless sod.

He would not think about what he had said about Diablo and his miserable siblings, he really would not, it was too early.

Lyndon was hungry, but he also so tired that he decided he would just go back to sleep for now, and dragged himself up the stairs. The bedroom reeked of blood and leather and sex, and it was much warmer in here then out there, but the stupid wolf was snuggled up cozy in bed in _his_ spot.

“ _Down.”_ He whispered hoarsely. She lifted her head and stared at him like _he_ was the animal that had come in from outside, snuffling a little, then put her head back down. Oh, that was just _it_ , he was so _done._ He crawled onto the bed and pushed at her large furry body with both hands.

“Shove _over_!” He hissed until he pushed her off the bed and she landed on the floor with an unhappy yelp. Whatever, she's fine. “If I get fleas I'm turning you into a carpet.” She released air through her mouth but stayed obediently on the floor, laying down on her side, her fluffy tail thumping on the carpet.

Jack was asleep, wrapped sticky in a tight cocoon of messy sweat-soaked blankets. Lyndon pulled the curtains around the bed tightly shut until everything was safe and dark, and pulled Jack into his arms, sweaty in seconds. He hoped Kormac would come soon, but he was so tired he felt dizzy. Jack had a fever, he knew _that_ much, but it didn't seem to be bad enough to require any immediate action, and Kormac had always insisted that rest was the very best thing for him. Just so long as no one _else_ came calling to interrupt their rest. Everything would be alright.

Lyndon slept again, but it was fitful and his dreams were full of voices in a lightless, frostfire oblivion.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Kormac stood in front of a door to a nameless house in the Westmarch Heights, chest aching as his injuries pulled against the bandages. His head felt every inch the fat mass that Lyndon always claimed it was, though that was probably because he had a black eye that made his face feel puffy. He would have preferred to have rested a little bit longer, his injuries only half healed, but Lorath had said he was needed here, and had a pretty good guess as to _who_ was needing him, so he went. Myriam had given him the address and he'd done his best to memorize it, but he still wasn't quite sure that this was the right house. He knew someone who had lived on this street once, a lifetime ago, but he figured they must have been dead now. The thought wasn't a pleasant one so he tried to forget it by knocking on the door instead.

He spotted a few sets of paw prints in the snow at his feet. Very _large_ paw prints. Wolf sized. This must be the right house but why-

There was some noise, a few steady thumps like someone coming down a flight of stairs very quickly, but then it stopped altogether for several seconds. Then the door opened a crack and one hawk colored eye peered out, before opening wider, revealing a slightly haggard looking Lyndon. All the awkwardness of their fight and subsequent apology came back in a rush and Kormac found himself unable to say anything, and just stood there staring like a fool.

“Ah, good.” Lyndon said as he stepped aside to let Kormac in.

“'Morning." Kormac said as kindly as he could. Lyndon looked quite tired, but he didn't seem wounded in any way. He was dressed comfortably in a pair of stitched brown trousers and a loose, ill-fitting blue tunic that kept threatening to slip off one shoulder, yet never did. There was not a trace of his many rings or gaudy amulets anywhere. He sported several bruises on his neck and collarbone as if someone had... as if _someone_ had... Kormac felt his face grow hot and he looked away. _Jack_ was the one who was hurt then. He expected as much.

Kormac had only a moment to wallow in his embarrassment, then marvel at the splendor of the townhouse before Lyndon was talking to him again.

“Come, he's upstairs.” Lyndon explained quickly, then made for the carpeted staircase. “Oh and Kormac?” He looked back at him over his shoulder and Kormac looked up from where he had been watching Lyndon's bare feet padding over the stairs. “Lovely to see that you're alright.” He said with a smile. “Though you've looked _better_.”

And... Kormac suddenly _felt_ much better.

The first thing Kormac did was open the curtains to let a little light into the room, stepping over a lazily dozing wolf to do so. The bedroom was a mess, as he expected because Lyndon was involved, clothes and items strewn everywhere, as though they had just dropped everything when they arrived and left it all where it had fallen. It was probably _exactly_ what they had done, actually.

Jack's face was terribly pale, and he was feverish and damp with sweat, curled into a tight ball on his side in the bed. Kormac rested a hand on the Demon Hunter's burning head to try to determine just how bad it all was by letting the Light tell him what was wrong.

It was _bad_ , but it wasn't...bad. He looked far worse then he was. And the three of them _smelled_ even worse than that.

“He hasn’t eaten anything in about two days by my guess, but even before that it wasn't much. I got him to drink some water...” Lyndon offered, sounding a little upset and uncharacteristically apologetic. He hovered anxiously while Kormac examined Jack, and Kormac let him hover. Lyndon watched him lift one eyelid, then the other, check the beating of his heart, and do his level best to _ignore_ the bruises and bite marks littering the hunter's neck and shoulders.

“He had a lot of those stupid health potions, but he was uhm, _sick_ , last night. Threw them all up.” Lyndon flitted about a few minutes while Kormac concentrated, then eventually sat on the edge of the bed, hands dangling in his lap. The health potions were troublesome and did uncomfortable things to the body, fiddled about with the balance of humors and such and just made everything a _mess_ inside. They were even less natural than healing energy, and Kormac had little love for them and any positive effects they might have bestowed. It was all temporary anyway. Better that they were out of his system. Kormac worked to heal the cuts on Jack's hands, unwinding the useless bandages afterward. There were a few other minor wounds he found, but most notably a torn calf muscle and a deep slice in his back that seemed mostly healed somehow, but Kormac had not known when Jack had received such a debilitating wound. Either way, he finished the job as best he could until he began to feel tired, leaving a pink, healing scar marring an intricate tattoo he had not known existed.

He glanced sidelong at Lyndon. There were a lot of things he didn't know about Jack, _apparently._

Healing magick was good, and the _Templar_ variety was the best. Kormac eased pain in sore muscles, made bruises vanish under the power of the Light, but it could not cure a fever or replace rest, and _rest_ was what Jack needed most. Rest and...

“A bath might help him to feel better, and lukewarm water would lower his temperature.” Kormac said, straightening up and blinking spots out of his vision. “ He needs to eat something as soon as possible.”

“Alright.” Lyndon said, but didn't look happy. “He's sick then?” The scoundrel asked, then started chewing on his fingernails nervously while Kormac thought of an answer.

“No... no he's not sick, but it's uhm, it's _like_ that I suppose. This is a fever borne of overexertion rather than any illness. It was rather common in the barracks of my Order.” Kormac explained. “There was once a Templar named Hillenbrand who could train like no other before him or even since. His conditioning came to the point where he could fight for forty straight hours without tiring.”

“Sounds like he had even you beat then.” Lyndon commented absently, a ghost of a smile.

“Yes, his dedication surpassed that of most. But when lack of sleep drove him mad, it took ten of us to fell him.” Kormac finished, and Lyndon frowned, staring at Jack with a worried gaze.

“Keep him warm, make him eat, and keep him in _bed_ , and he'll be right as rain before too long.” Kormac offered gently.

And Lyndon released a breath, looking much relieved, and cast Kormac a grateful look before turning his attention back to the Demon Hunter.

And Kormac just stood there, _looking_ at the two of them.

It wasn't fair, Kormac decided, that Jack should lose so much and continue to suffer over and over again for others and earn little in return but weariness and more festering hate. But while Kormac did not necessarily _approve_ of this unusual new relationship (really Jack could do so much better than that vile degenerate, he was really scraping the bottom of the barrel on this one) but he was resigned to it now, and _well_... Lyndon stroked Jack's hair out of his face gently, eyes softer then Kormac had ever seen them, and Jack leaned into the touch with a barely audible sound, tension leaving him. Anything that could bring the Demon Hunter any semblance of comfort was pure, and right, and good.

But Lyndon's smile quickly grew impish. “Why I simply wouldn't _dream_ of letting him out of bed. Ahaha...” He said, grinning lecherously.

 _Pure_?! What madness had temporarily gripped him to make him think _that_?! “No... _vigorous activity_!” Kormac hissed.

“I'll have you know Kormac that I am a thoughtful and sensitive gentleman and your accusation has wounded me gravely.” Lyndon said, face brimming with fake hurt, “But really, I'm surprised you know _that_ much about it.”

“You are an animal! You belong in a _barn_!” Kormac bellowed, utterly furious.

“Shshshh!” The scoundrel shushed him, pointing at Jack who had not stirred even a little. Kormac grit his teeth and released frustrated noises while Lyndon smiled devilishly at him.

“Careful, you might break something.” The thief said, winding his fingers through thick black hair. “Or, eugh, _more_ things. Your poor face.”

Wretched man... and _yet_... Kormac might say he almost missed this.

Lyndon winced suddenly and gripped his arm when he moved it a little too fast. Speaking of _breaking_ something...

“Let me see it!” Kormac huffed as though addressing a child who had taken something they shouldn't have (and really, wasn't that all Lyndon _was_?) and held Lyndon's previously broken arm in a firm grip. Lyndon scowled and stuck his tongue out at him but held very still while Kormac examined the limb.

Just as he thought, _cracked_.

Kormac sighed, frustrated. “What did I _say_?”

“Don't... put weight on it?” Lyndon offered innocently.

“And what did you do?”

“Put... weight on it?” Lyndon was grinning now.

“It's nothing to laugh at! What were you even _doing_?” Kormac asked, grabbing a piece of what he assumed used to be clothing from the floor, it was a discarded strip of cloth, and it looked clean enough.

“Very... _important_ things!” Lyndon insisted haughtily.

Kormac made a disgusted noise and rolled his eyes, “A likely story!” But really, judging by those kiss-bruises on the thief's throat... he really _didn't_ want to know what had actually occurred.

“Oh! And I suppose you're just _fine_ to be up and about judging by that sheen of sweat that has bloomed on your brow and the rather sickly color your face has turned. Pushing ourselves with our fancy Templar magicky nonsense aren't we?” Lyndon pointed out with a sarcastic wave of his hand.

“You are at least _partially_ right, I can't heal this yet, so you will just have to wear a sling for a little while.” Kormac explained patiently, then tied the sling for the scoundrel's arm. Lyndon complied, but seemed much put out by the whole thing, a thick, petulant expression smudging his face.

“So.” Lyndon said after a few moments of quiet, arm cradled in his lap.

“...So?” Kormac asked, thinking about leaving and taking a little nap.

“ _Soooo_ , when are you going to tell dear, sweet Eirena that the sun rises and sets in her eyes and that you would walk through Hell and back for a _kiss_?” Lyndon asked wistfully.

“By the _Light_ Lyndon!” Kormac whispered hoarsely, trying not to shout, but it was with far less of his usual righteous anger. He sighed and sat in a chair next to the bed, feeling tired. In truth, he didn't know what to do about Eirena, but he _did_ at least know that nothing could be done about it until he got to the bottom of what was going on in his Order. He told Lyndon as much and the scoundrel listened patiently to his fears and concerns with a focus he had not previously thought the man capable of displaying.

“I wrote a letter...but... burned it.” He said feeling his ears grow hot. “And Eirena really, she...she probably only sees me as another adventurer, and, and a _friend_. Nothing more than that.” He added miserably.

Lyndon blinked, “Oh, I don't think so. I think she's just had a lot of bad experiences with men. And is... playing at being _oblivious_ , when she is really very much aware of how you feel about her.” He said absently, then looked at Kormac, a curious expression on his face. “Our sweet Eirena is a bit odd yes, but stupid she is not.”

Kormac let this information sink in, and he grudgingly admitted that if anyone were to know the truth of things then it would probably be Lyndon because he had more ehm... _experience_ with... women. Men. Things.

_But hold on._

“What do you mean... bad experiences with men?”

“She said she was a _servant_ girl, it was likely her parents couldn't afford to feed her, so instead of dying in the street or going to an orphanage she was sold to a wealthy Vizjerei lord as a _servant._ ” Lyndon said seriously, looking at Kormac intently.

“So she was a servant... so what?” Kormac asked, confused, but he felt a sinking feeling in his gut, the kind of feeling that came when he really ought to have known better about something.

Lyndon sighed through his nose and looked away, “Servant girls don't _exist_ Kormac, there are only slaves and whores and concubines for wealthy, demon summoning, cruelty driven Vizjerei lords.”

Kormac paled, knowing in his heart that Lyndon was right. They sat quiet for several long minutes, Kormac's thoughts felt muddled, and he felt more uncertain then before. She did not much talk about her time with the Vizjerei lord, only about her sisters and that Prophet. Was she hiding something _terrible_ that had happened to her?

“He's alright enough to be left alone for a little while?” Lyndon asked quietly, interrupting Kormac's messy thoughts, his fingers never ceasing their combing of messy black hair.

“Yes, I expect so. He should be, uhm, _alright_.” Kormac answered, glancing at Jack again.

“And after you sleep a bit, you'll be able to heal yourself the rest of the way, maybe with a little help from Eirena too?” Lyndon inquired.

Kormac thought about it, he'd probably feel alright enough by tonight, a little rest would go a long way to restoring the energy he would need to heal himself. “I suppose so.” But what did _that_ matter?

“Then how about tonight?” The scoundrel asked, rolling his shoulders a little to get comfortable in the sling.

“How about... _what_?”

“You yourself said it likely wasn't safe to wait anymore. People could be dying, demons running amok, _that_ sort of thing. Jack can't go. I _will_.” Lyndon said, casual as anything.

“Just... only us?” Kormac questioned, wondering if this was such a good idea, but then again how difficult would it really be? He was only going there to _talk_ mostly.

“Yes, us. Well, maybe _wolf_ would like to come too.” And the wolf wriggled her tail and perked up, as though she knew Lyndon had been talking about her. “We're more than capable.”

“Alright, I suppose I could use a-a... _friend_.” Kormac said a little sheepishly.

Lyndon smiled at him, a nice wide one. “Here I am!”

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

The bath here really was lovely, and Lyndon congratulated himself yet again on his marvelous house choice while he soaked in hot water, sighing in borderline _obscene_ contentment. He'd tested the water a second time, and it worked as before, spraying icy cold water, that was chilled even more so by the cold weather, and shut off abruptly with a quarter turn of the copper tap. Lyndon thought that maybe he could figure out how get it heated and do something _nice_ for Jack. He was _so_ unhappy... He'd said he was tired of being alive, which Lyndon still hadn't brought up, (might not at all, at least for now). Perhaps Lyndon could start a new routine to show him that things could be _better._ That they didn't always have to be awful and a struggle and a painful misery. They could be quiet and... _domestic_ , and feel _nice_.

As nice as a hot bath for instance.

Maybe when Jack was better he could show him around Westmarch a little, it couldn't be _all_ bad could it? Even though a lazy meandering through the capitol sounded a bit _boring_ compared to their usual activities, Lyndon had grown to appreciate the small things, cherished the little comforts that had taken work for him to earn, sleeping in an actual bed was one of them, and being clean was _definitely_ one of them.

It had taken a bit of searching and thinking, but Lyndon had eventually figured it out the water. He _knew_ the water had to be heated downstairs _somehow_ , he'd had plenty of baths with wealthy noble ladies in their wealthy noble houses to know that, but it was servants who usually did it for them. They were also likely the ones responsible for tattling on him to the ladies' husbands, Lyndon thought a little crossly. Not that it even mattered now.

Lyndon had gone downstairs and searched for the basement, and had brought his crossbow with him. He'd been in far too many cellars of late that were crawling with undead and demons and other little nasties. The thought that they could have been moaning and muddling about down there while he and Jack had been sleeping made Lyndon feel a little nauseous, but he honestly didn't think there was anything in this house to worry about (for once) he had only brought the weapon as a precaution.

The cellar turned out to be empty of monsters, and for that he was grateful. There was a water tank above something that looked like a furnace. He got the fire going and closed the door on the grate, and spun around to find a glorious rack of more than fifteen expensive wine bottles. Somewhere up there, _someone_ must like him. _Thank Akarat._

Lyndon decided that one of life's great pleasures was drinking expensive wine in the bathtub of a house that wasn't yours.

After he'd soaked and gotten dressed, and checked on Jack again. Sleeping, feverish, same as he'd left him.

Lyndon wandered back downstairs looking for something to eat. While it wasn't a mansion with the endless variety of foods that he would have preferred, it was still a well-to-do piece of property and there was quite a lot of food here. Maybe he could find something that Jack would be willing to eat. Something easy on the stomach maybe? That would be better. Some of the food had gone bad, vegetables, stale bread and the like, and he threw those away. But Lyndon was _hungry,_ but then he found a collection of dried, salted fish, something he'd loved in Kingsport, and ate to his heart's content, washing it all down with a healthy supply of decadently expensive wine. Mmm. He could easily get used to this, and there wasn't any reason for him to feel bad about taking anything either. The previous residents probably weren't even alive! Well... he supposed he _should_ feel a little bad about that... but couldn't quite bring himself to. He already had enough to feel bad about, and there just wasn't room for any more.

There was the staple of apples and cheeses here that he nibbled on, and some heartier breads that had not yet gone stale. A veritable _mountain_ of rutabagas, potatoes and squashes. There were even a few pumpkins set in the corner, spices of every kind, vinegars and oils and... a bottle of olive oil. _Hmm._ He quickly decided to take the entire thing, grinning a little to himself. He liked acorn squash, but didn't know how to cook it (or much else here) there was a _lovely_ collection of fruits and vegetables preserved in jars though, but mostly it was a pile of ingredients that he didn't have the slightest idea what to do with. Lyndon was not a good cook, he would be the first to admit it. He'd never really had the chance to properly learn, and later ended up just stealing most of his meals anyway. His brother had always been the one to make something out of something when they'd had the money, but he had taught Lyndon as best he could, and even though it was more likely that Lyndon would somehow set a pot of boiling water on fire then actually make something edible, he _was_ capable of making a few very _specific_ things.

Porridge, a peasant food, was one of them. Boiled eggs was another, but he likened that all the eggs here had either frozen or gone bad and wouldn't risk cracking one open to see.

It had been a long, long time since he'd had to do this for himself, and even longer for someone else, but he still remembered how. There was a can of crushed oats and he grabbed it along with a pot and poured water into it, mixing until they were combined smooth. He added more water and lit the fire in the stove, (suddenly realizing that it was probably easy for anyone to find them because all they had to do was look for the bloody smoke coming out of the chimneys, and he felt more than a little stupid for that oversight) and stirred it while it got hot. He uncorked a second bottle of wine and took mouthfuls from it every chance he could. It really wasdelicious.What they said was true then, money really _could_ buy happiness!

He found that he didn't really think about anything in particular, he just sort of blankly stood there, drinking, and stirring (switching hands when his wounded arm started to hurt again) and staring out the tiny little kitchen window at the snow on the ground, content to be still for once, until bubbles were coming up from the tan colored substance, making it thick and... frankly rather disgusting looking. He tasted it and it was... _alright_ , he hadn't ruined it or anything, but it was as bland and boring as he remembered. Maybe... he found brown sugar and heaped a few generous spoonfuls into it and, _ahh,_ _much_ _better_. Maybe Jack could eat this and not feel ill.

At the top of the stairs he nearly tripped over the wolf that had decided that the best place for her to lie down would be in the damned doorway. As he carefully stepped over her, he saw the two ferrets asleep in the fur atop her back. Bloody animals. He set his horde of kitchen items on the nightstand, then (very) carefully shook the Demon Hunter awake.

Jack surfaced slowly, dragging himself back to consciousness with a concentrated effort and blinking at Lyndon as though wondering just _what_ exactly he was being woken up for, but he seemed to at least recognize Lyndon and where he was and- _“Bright.”_ Jack mumbled unhappily, squeezing his eyes shut and turning his head away from the light of the window. Oh, right. Lyndon got up and drew the dark blue drapes closed, making it dim again. Jack opened his eyes again cautiously, then was looking at him, gaze soft and dark.

Lyndon sat down on the edge of the bed again, “Do you uhm, do you feel alright?”

“Tired.” Jack said, and he certainly looked it.

“Though you might say that... but do you think you could eat? I uh, I made you... something...” And he trailed off a bit, suddenly uncertain, but Jack blinked tiredly and sat up, leaning against the headboard and accepted the food that was placed carefully into his lap. “Are you hurt?” Jack inquired, staring at Lyndon's wrapped limb. It seemed odd that the first question he would coherently ask would be about how _Lyndon_ was doing. But Lyndon supposed he had spent a good Kingsport minute being dead yesterday, and Jack had taken that... rather _poorly_.

“Yes, fine, just a bit sore from uhm... it's sore. It's _fine_.” Lyndon explained awkwardly, trying not to think about exactly _why_ it was sore. _Definitely_ not because of their little romp last night. Which he absolutely _wasn't_ thinking about repeating right now. Why did Jack have to be half naked? He was doing it on _purpose._

Jack stared at the bowl of food with a deeply uncertain expression, unaware of Lyndon's more carnal musings. But then he ate it. _All of it_. Even when it made him pale and ill looking from how much he obviously did not want to eat _anything_ but...

“S'good.” Jack mumbled, bowl empty, and _did you force yourself just because I made it for you, you silly bastard_... Lyndon beamed at him and felt better then he had all day, and if he felt any sudden warmth flaring in his belly and chest, then well... it was probably just the wine anyway.

“Did you... _drug_ me? Before?” Jack asked, rubbing his eyelids carefully with two fingers as though he had an ache behind them.

“That. _Might_ have happened.” Lyndon said, grinning just a little bit.

“Oh.” At least Jack wasn't upset about it. Lyndon could feel butterflies whizzing around in his gut for, as far as he could tell, no reason at all.

“I-I ran you a bath. You know you don't exactly smell very good, and while it is an effective deterrent, _nothing_ keeps me away forever.” He said wistfully.

Jack smiled just barely and shook his head, “Right.”

Good. _Better_.

Even more than ten hours of sleep later, the Demon Hunter was still so exhausted that he was terribly unsteady on his feet, and practically had to be carried to the bath. Lyndon was beginning to realize that this wasn't something that was going to go away in a day or two. He would need _time_ to recover from this, physically _and_ mentally. It wasn't the two day coma that the aftermath of the Prime had been, but it was almost as bad. _Worse_ even. Lyndon didn't like it one bit. He wondered just what the use of his power was really costing him, and where he had even drawn it from in the first place when there should have just been nothing left within him to allow for it. Some Nephalem ridiculousness, locked away in his blood no doubt, Lyndon reasoned. _Whatever_ it was it had drained him incredibly and Lyndon _didn't like it._

Jack was quiet while he soaked in the hot water, and even seemed a little embarrassed to have help, but when Lyndon shrugged out of the sling (didn't hurt all that bad anyway) and ran his fingers through his hair, washing it for him, he leaned into the touch and released a heavy sigh, then folded his arms over his drawn up knees and put his head down. He closed his eyes and just sort of _sagged_ there, tension bleeding out of him as he relaxed completely, a soft “Don't stop” escaping him that pulled all the moisture from Lyndon's mouth like any of the driest Merlot he had ever tasted.

And he _wanted._

But instead of hauling Jack out of the bath and taking him right back to the bed for another go, he attempted to be good for once and evened up the hunter's hair in the back with a small pair of silver scissors, not _too_ short because it was pretty when it was long, but, just a little... He hoped that focusing on something else would allow time for his blood to calm before he did something inappropriate. The man didn't take any pride in himself beyond being able to kill something efficiently. Didn't even think it was worth it, that it didn't _matter_. If Lyndon was being honest with himself, he would say that the Demon Hunter was far better looking than he was. _The dashing war hero_. Lyndon had started out skinny, dirty, underfed, and smaller than his brother who had grown like a weed and bulked up quickly when he took his place among the King's guard. Lyndon was bigger _now_ , but that was only within the last year, and for a long time he'd only had a few decent attributes to work with, but at least he knew how to highlight them for attention. He'd been shy once, but he'd been determined to be something more.

Satisfied with the job he'd done, Lyndon left Jack to finish up, and went to re-make the bed with fresh linens. Just when Lyndon was digging through the blanket chest at the foot of the bed for more quilts to pile onto the bed (one could never have too many quilts he always said) Jack appeared in the doorway of the washroom, clean shaven, and looking _desperately_ young. It was easy to forget that Lyndon had several years on him. He was naked, and beautiful in a way that shouldn't have been possible, but he leaned on the door frame wearily, all his weight on his hands, and Lyndon felt like a rotten old bastard for gawking when he should have been helping him get back into bed. So he did so, far too aware of damp, sweet smelling chestnut skin and blue, _blue_ eyes staring out at him from beneath a curtain of midnight-black hair that spread out over the pillow, drying into feathers.

“Come here.” Jack had to go ahead and say, like a gods-damned incubus, and ohhh, Lyndon _understood_ now, this was a test wasn't it? Some greater cosmic force was at work to test his willpower, trying to turn him to the dark side.

“No vigorous activity, doctor's orders.” Lyndon found himself saying madly, instead of just stripping naked and crawling into bed and making Jack go to pieces beneath him like he so desperately wanted to do.

“Kormac is not a doctor and neither are you.” Jack said blandly. Did he somehow know that Kormac had visited? Strange.

“Well, neither are _you_ then.” Lyndon argued childishly.

Jack was staring at him, eyes so warm, and they were glowing just a little, or perhaps it could have been a trick of the light but they-

“Lay with me.”

Oh. Alright.

Willpower dissolving like sugar in hot tea, Lyndon peeled the blankets back, and no sooner had he crawled in beside Jack, that they just sort of fell into each other. They kissed, almost leisurely, and Jack trailed his fingers over him, confidently, in a way he had never done before. His eyes followed the path his wandering hands had blazed, and just sort of looked at Lyndon like he was having trouble believing that he was there beside him.

“You're not dead.” Jack whispered, eyes large, fever bright, and blue, with an innocence both of them had lost years and years ago.

“No.” Lyndon answered, just as quiet, while Jack gazed at him with a reverence he obviously didn't deserve.

“ _How?_ ” Jack asked, blinking in the weak light.

Lyndon hadn't thought about it. He remembered voices and darkness and screaming and _get up Lyndon_ but- “I don't know.” He didn't. But did it _matter_?

Jack's fingers never ceased their mapping of his body, they moved to his face now. No one ever really touched his face except to kiss him. It felt... different. Jack brushed his eyebrows, the thin skin at the lids of his eyes, making him blink against it, his nose and mustache after, then the line of his jaw, like a blind person trying to learn the features of a face. It was as though Lyndon were something _special_ , something worth it, and he had never felt so wanted, so _needed_ by another person in all his life.

Honestly, it was just a little bit overwhelming.

Jack opened his mouth a little, uttering a hitched “ _I-_ ” And oh Gods, he was going to say he _loved_ him wasn't he? And if he did Lyndon wouldn't know what to do, because he didn't know what to _do_ about _anything,_ and everything felt terrifying and muddled, and he didn't know what was happening anymore. He just knew that he _couldn't_ if Jack said that, just couldn't ever hear that from someone who he knew would mean it with all of their heart, and in a panic, Lyndon kissed him and kissed him and touched him until any terrible and devastating words he might have said became “Ahh, _ahh_.” and “ _Gods, Lyndon..._ ” And he was really doing this again when they perhaps shouldn't have been. But he wanted, and so, he took, feeling so selfish that he could have died from it.

It was easy to get him on his stomach, on his knees, and get that perfect arse in his hands, sweat on his skin smelling warm and _human_ . And Lyndon licked a path from the slight dip at the base of his spine to the raised skin that ran behind his bollocks and back until Jack was shaking and clawing at the- oh he was going to -there was a tearing sound as the (expensive) silk fabric shredded beneath his desperate fingers. Lyndon slicked himself up with the new oil on the bedside table and even though Jack was as relaxed as he could be from yesterday, the bath, and Lyndon's tongue, he still entered him as carefully as he had the first time, gritting his teeth and hissing, pleasure burning low in his spine and _Gods were they really doing this again?_

Lyndon had intended to keep with the leisurely pace they had started with, but things got a bit away from him when Jack pushed back against him, making sounds like he was being slowly pulled apart and loving every moment of it, and yes, falling to pieces beneath him. Lyndon was so _grateful_ to be good at this, making other people feel good, his second best talent. The first being _stealing_ , and that wasn't necessarily something to be very proud of, but together his talents managed to achieve an acceptable balance of give and take.

He spread his fingers out over the Demon Hunter's back, petting as they moved together, snapping his hips in fluid and rapid rhythm. The image of the hooded demon skull distorted as muscles flexed, moving beneath the skin, and Lyndon traced the pink, healing scar that had cleaved the image in half while Jack sobbed out his pleasure into the bedsheets beneath him, spilling lava hot over Lyndon's gripping fingers.

Lyndon tried to think of something to keep from losing himself too quickly, everything from blackened, burnt out villages to dead kittens, but muscles were _squeezing_ and _squeezing_ and his control skittered away from him, and out of him, until he was gasping and shaking, and blinking bruise-dark spots out of his vision. Release turning him inside out.

When he could move again, Lyndon cleaned them both off and noted the bite marks he had left in the skin of Jack's left arse cheek that he didn't remember inflicting. _Right_. He pulled blankets over the Demon Hunter, leaving him sleeping, sprawled out in the bed on his stomach, head pillowed on his arms. Lyndon touched his head, winding his fingers through soft hair as thick as horsetail plumes and his eyes lit upon one silver hair, standing out prominently against the black.

Jack was far, _far_ too young for that.

Lyndon pulled his clothes back on and found his coat, a heavy blood stain from the wound on the hunter's back, long dried, marring the inside of it. He put it on anyway and scrawled a short note, explaining where he'd gone so Jack would not worry in case he woke.

Lyndon needed to get away, just for a little bit, before it became too much and he made the mistake of running until he had gone too far to come back. He grabbed his crossbow and everything he would need, stealing away into the cold twilight to kill time before going to meet Kormac. The wolf ran, keeping pace at his side.

 


	25. Sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I updated another chapter right before this one, and I know the updates were kind of close, so if you haven’t read the chapter before this, please go back and do so. :D

_Love, love is a verb_  
_Love is a doing word_  
_Fearless on my breath_  
_Gentle impulsion_  
_Shakes me, makes me lighter_  
_Fearless on my breath_  
_Teardrops on the fire_  
_Fearless on my breath_  
―Teardrops, Massive Attack

 

 

Lyndon walked down the street, kicking at the snow that had just barely started melting. It wasn't terribly cold out, there was no wind, but it was cold enough to keep the snow there.Lyndon was glad he grabbed one of Jack's scarves (the red one) on the way out the door. He started to realize that there were many sets of footprints in the snow other than just his and whoever had visited the townhouse. The streetlamps had been lit where they hadn't been before, which meant that there were people here _somewhere_. He had no idea how many residents had actually died or how many had just left. Estimating what remained of Westmarch's population seemed impossible without at least some sort of formal census. He let his feet take him through familiar alleys and snickleways he remembered from the last time he had been here, steering himself toward the market district.

He could have taken a waypoint, sure, but... he just wanted to walk for a little while. He was almost a little angry that the big wolf had followed him, but then realized that he felt a little better with at least one other thing with him, even if that other thing was an animal. She was quiet at least, her feet made not a sound in the soft layer of snow.

There were candles lit in most of the windows of the houses and shops he passed, but he spotted not a soul. Lanterns had been left on steps and even hollowed out turnips and pumpkins had been placed as some sort of passable vessel for firelight. In the setting sun at twilight, it made everything look strange and dreamlike. The last time Lyndon had been to this part of town it had been caked with corpses, but there were no bodies now, everything was more or less clean, but eerily quiet. For a moment, Lyndon almost felt as though he were the last man on Sanctuary. It wasn't a very good feeling.

Planted in the center of the clustered shop fronts and stalls was one of his favorite haunts, Tustine's Brewery, and his heart sank a little to see that it had been abandoned (or at least abandoned for now). He had spent many a happy hour with Tustine's lovely daughter in the tavern front of the brewery (and in more private places) and their family's distinct ale had always been his favorite, he liked it even more than the famous brown. Lyndon decided that a quick stop was in order, perhaps there was a bottle or two left behind and waiting for him.

He forced the door, taking a candle off the stairs with him to see by, and the wolf followed him, her enormous head pointed down and her nose sniff, sniff, sniffing the floor and the air. She looked up at him after, her tail swaying gently from side to side, and Lyndon felt a little better. Surely if there was something _bad_ here she would have scented it out and... done something. Growled or whatever.

It was a bit depressing to see the sad state of the once bustling interior where he had spent so much of his time socializing that summer. The flickering flame of his candle cast heavy, spooky shadows over the tavern, there were tipped over chairs and broken glass bottles strewn everywhere. A shattered sky-light window let cold air in, and there was a small pile of collected snow dusting the main bar. There was no one here, living _or_ dead, and it seemed as though there wasn't any ale either. Even the silver behind the counter didn't appeal to him, he simply didn't want to have to carry it at the moment. _Damn_. But he hadn't yet checked the back storerooms so perhaps there was still a chance for a little _something_.

The storeroom was filled with beer and ale production equipment, large copper tanks, along with several barrels full of leftover liquor that he didn't feel like opening. He quickly spied a row of shelves, stacked full with bottles of ale bearing the Tustine crest. _Perfect!_ Lyndon dropped three into his satchel and cracked one open for the road. He made a special note to come back later for more. It was starting to get darker out, and the candle he brought wasn't helping all that much anymore. He should be heading to the Enclave soon to meet up with Kormac so they could-

He spotted the leaned up catering advertisement plaque almost by accident. The sign was painted a cheerful purple and yellow with an illustration of three ale bottles, spilling glittering liquid. 'Call on Tustine for your next engagement! We also do Weddings!' the sign proudly proclaimed. It reminded him, _miserably_ , of the occasion of his brother's wedding. Of _course_ he'd gone, he had been the best man after all, even though he felt he rightfully shouldn't have been granted such an honor. Edlin had far more important friends that were much better behaved than his ratty little brother. He remembered arguing against it, but his brother had begged him, unwilling to accept anyone else. So he had agreed, and he had gone, all to make Eddy happy. Lyndon remembered it very distinctly as being one of the more _terrible_ days of his life, sitting there in a sodding church in clothes that didn't suit him with a bunch of people he hated, and who hated him, all the while suffering though Rea's cold indifference to his presence while he tried not to even look at her, at how _beautiful_ she was, and how everything he had ever wanted was slipping through his fingers like sand. It had been a terrible torture, but Edlin had been brimming, nearly overflowing with happiness, and just so damned, bloody _giddy_ that Lyndon had tried as hard as he could to not ruin anything, and at the very least Lyndon had gotten some cake out of it, and it had turned out alright, at least until the end that is, _at least until the end that is-_

The tears took him by surprise, like a rug being pulled out from under him and knocking him on his arse. It wasn't every day that one walked into a brewery expecting to be gutted by their own unhappy memories after all. You drank to _forget_ all that of course. _And he'd been doing so well._ He sank down to the floor and sobbed like a teething baby, right there next to the ale shelves, until he felt near sick from it. He wondered how much of it was grief, sorrow and guilt over what had happened to Edlin and the part he had played in it, and how much was just pure, wretched _gratefulness_ that he had lived through this and didn't have to lose anyone else. At least Jack wasn't here to see, it would only have upset him.

Because Jack _loved_ him. Right. Brilliant.

Loved _him_ (Lyndon) like he loved Rea, and Lyndon couldn't do much better than to use him and leave him to go cry in an empty brewery as though he were mourning the loss of simple ale production rather than the death of his own rotten heart.

When he was five he'd cried every day. He'd wandered through that huge orphanage from top to bottom, always wondering why their mother and father had left them there. Hadn't they wanted them? Edlin claimed he didn't really remember them, he was two years old when they came to that place, and Lyndon had been one. They'd kept them long enough to give them names hadn't they? Didn’t they care at all? He would cry about it, aching for a mother and father he had never met and shouldn't have even been missing. The other children would tease him near to death until he could not stand it anymore and he would hide in a cupboard, the furnace room, the orphan matron's closet, and even his brother's bed to get away from it _._

In the end it was easier to believe that they'd just died like so many other children's parents, because that was better than not being wanted anymore. He'd stopped crying (mostly) and started getting the other kids back by way of increasingly elaborate pranks. And even when he'd left he spent years making himself into what he wanted to be, determined to not care about any of it, and find shallow comfort in every person he threw himself at. But it had only been a partial success, the loneliness of it all eating away at him like a slow, degenerative disease.

He realized his fingers were knotted into the thick fur of the wolf, her great big head laid heavy in his lap and his own tears were dripping onto his hands and sticking all of her fine fur together. It was easy to pull her up to sit with him so he could hug her round the neck because it felt better to do so, and cry like no one was watching. Because no one _was_ and even though he hadn't been particularly nice to her, he knew she at least wouldn't laugh at him, or tease him, or tattle on him, or ask him to stop it and grow up. What had they called him? _Crybaby_. Fine then. Sure. He didn't care. He felt like something tight in his chest was unwinding for the first time since he'd come here and there was no one here to tell him to stop or _really, Lyndy you're much too old for this, you need to grow up-_

He was beginning to see the comfort that Jack found in beasts. Even if they weren't quite as good as a person.

Lyndon thought of why had he fallen apart like he had in the Enclave. He didn't remember all of it, he had been rather shitfaced at the time, sure, but he knew he had cried. He had felt so awful then that not even alcohol had been able to alleviate it. He had felt the guilt and the piercing pain of his brother not being there anymore, but what had really gotten to him was the fearful realization that the only person who had ever truly cared for him was gone and that no one would ever love him again.

_But that wasn't exactly true now, was it?_

There had been someone holding him even then. That hadn't been a dream had it?

( _“Hush now, I've got you.”_ )

And maybe... maybe that would be alright? If someone did happen to say that they loved him? Maybe it wouldn't be quite so terrifying, and maybe he could-

He took a deep breath and pulled his face out of soft, damp fur that smelled like trees and wilderness, sniffing and wiping his face with his hands, the candle long since burned low on the shelf he'd left it on. He looked in his pockets for the handkerchief before he remembered he had given it to Eirena. The wolf licked his face a few times until he scoffed and pushed her away, but she stared at him with large, yellow eyes, her mouth opening just slightly as she panted puffs of air in the cold, and it looked a little bit like a smile _._

And Lyndon felt... _better_.

This time the grief had been his own and not the piss-poor, wine fueled self pity session he had made of it in the Enclave. And now he was thinking of someone who was asleep in a townhouse in the Westmarch Heights, and wondering if it was possible to love two people.

Just then the front door opened with an unsubtle bang, making Lyndon jump, and then he froze because _something was coming in!_

He'd barely had time to grab for his crossbow, knocking a few half formed icicles loose, and sniff up a load of snot that threatened to drip out of his nose when a rather familiar figure, lightly armored in black, silver and bone, and a head of snowy white hair, entered the back storeroom where Lyndon was crouching.

But the wolf was _not growling._

“Oh, my apologies.” The figure said as he came into the candlelight, and Lyndon felt the panic give way beneath a sudden needle of frustrated annoyance. _Seriously?_

“Three fourths of the city is dead and I can't find _one_ dark, empty corner to wallow in? Can't I just be miserable in _peace?!_ ” He snapped at... _whoever_ it was, _knowing_ that his voice had cracked pathetically, shook, betrayed him in every way imaginable, _knowing_ that he looked a mess, and like he had been crying, and all the more infuriated and ashamed by it.

But to his credit, the mystery visitor, whom Lyndon _knew_ he had seen somewhere before, seemed to be quite apologetic and bowed his head. “Ah, forgive me. I will leave you to your thoughts.” And then left the storeroom, moving back into the tavern front quietly.

_What the Hell?_

Irritated, and utterly confused, Lyndon gathered his things and got to his feet, wiping his eyes again on the back of his wrist. The... the _man_ was bending over a small urn that he had placed in the middle of the tavern and filling it with what looked like glowing blue crocodile teeth, and _oh_ _shit_ _skeletons-_

The skeletons, thankfully did not run at him and try to hack his tear-streaked face apart, or fill him full of ghostly blue arrows, they instead, just stood there looking at him and... _hissing,_ while the man kneeling on the floor quieted them with a soft “Stop that.” and calmly went about his business. Lyndon suddenly realized where he'd seen this weird person before.

“Aren't you that necromancer from the desert?” Lyndon asked, sniffing again, eying the closest skeleton warily. The wolf licked Lyndon's hand, then sat down on the floor patiently, mouth falling open a little to pant. He'd never been so glad to have her here, he pet her soft head gently, giving his fingers something to do and an outlet for his nervousness.

“Yes, though I prefer the title Priest of Rathma, and you are the thief who follows the Demon Hunter.” The necromancer answered in the rather bland way Jack sometimes did, then lit the teeth in the urn with a flickering blue-green flame.

“I prefer to be called _Lyndon_ myself, but thief is also acceptable.” Lyndon answered a bit sarcastically, his nose was stuffed up and he didn't like the skeletons, and he just wanted to _go_.

“Very well... Lyndon.” The man glanced up at him with mildly interested expression, before he went back to his stupid urn.

“And am I to call you priest of... whatsit?” Lyndon inquired, a little sharply.

“Mehtan... is fine.” The necro- _Priest_ said with a friendly smile, then removed a handkerchief from his pocket, and handed it to him. Lyndon blew his nose gratefully, feeling about six years old but significantly better, and even a little sorry for acting so rude. He handed the fabric back to the Priest who took it without any hesitation, and wondered if perhaps his embarrassing body fluids were going to be used in an experiment of some kind, but it was far more likely that Mehtan was just less squeamish than he was. Anyone who had bloody _skeletons_ for pets could probably tolerate a lot more nastiness.

“Thank you.” He said, and meant it. “That hasn't been in a tomb though has it? Or left in corpse dust or something? I know you people are _into_ that sort of thing.” He couldn't help adding.

“Corpse free, and please, think nothing of it. Do not be ashamed to weep; 'tis right to grieve. Tears are only water, and flowers, trees, and fruit cannot grow without water. But there must be sunlight also. A wounded heart will heal in time, and when it does, the memory and love of our lost one is sealed inside to comfort us.” The priest said gently, and Lyndon just stood there blankly, struck dumb.

“ _Oh._ ” He managed to mumble and Mehtan nodded at him in acknowledgment.

Lyndon watched him work for a few minutes, until he felt like he could speak without his voice cracking embarrassingly. “Uhm, _what_ are you doing?” The urn was glowing brightly, casting a large amount of pretty blue light in the tavern, making it look as though they were suddenly underwater.

“There are spirits lingering here.” Mehtan said, unsheathing a small, pointed dagger with an ivory handle.

“Is that some kind of _brewery_ joke?”

Mehtan laughed a little at that, and Lyndon found himself grinning just slightly, deciding that this _Priest of Rathma_ fellow was alright enough, despite his horrible skeleton pets.

“I expect you have a bit of experience with this. I trust your time among the dead was... informing?” The priest asked curiously, approaching him.

“Uhm?” _What?_

“You have been dead.” Mehtan clarified bluntly, then moved away to the bar and began setting up a second blue flamed, flickering urn. His skeletons followed him across the room, turning their heads every so often to look at Lyndon with empty, black eye sockets.

 _Gods._ “H-How did you _know_ that?”

Mehtan smiled, “I can see it.”

Lyndon balked and looked at himself, not noticing anything at all different or strange but-

“No, no, it is nothing you can see. Only a trained Priest such as I.” The priest interrupted quickly, fishing more handfuls of glowing teeth out of his satchel. What the Hell did teeth and blue fire have to do with _spirits_ anyway?

“Oh. Well it wasn't exactly _informing_ , as you say, it was...” _What was it?_ “Terrible.”

“Ah, then I am sorry. Though I expect that the place you had gone would not have qualified as an afterlife. Closer to a cage really.”

“I certainly _hope_ not.” Lyndon muttered, shuddering. He didn't really want to talk about it. Jack said he had died, so Lyndon believed him, but he wasn't even sure if what he remembered as _death_ , was what had actually happened to him. Maybe this Priest of Rathma would know?

“If I died... how did I come back?” Lyndon asked a little nervously, his fingers moving in the fur atop the wolf's head while her tongue lolled out of her mouth happily.

Mehtan lit the second urn, observing it for several moments before he approached Lyndon again, then moved past him to the other corner of the room to begin setting up a third, eerily glowing vase full of teeth.

“Likely simpler than you think.” He said, “Your soul was removed from its vessel, then Malthael was destroyed within minutes of this occurrence. Your body was likely nearby, and some tether still remained to tell you where to go after you had been freed. The body can live without a soul, just not for very long before it becomes undead.” Mehtan explained patiently, fiddling with his urn.

That didn't sound simple _at all._

“Uhm, so I _didn't_ die?” Lyndon asked, confused.

“No you did.” Mehtan said gently, smiling, his eyes were silvery grey-blue, and very kind. “You were just very lucky.”

“Ha! Story of my bloody _life_.” Lyndon laughed, though it was without much humor.

Mehtan laughs, long but quietly, and steps away from the third urn to join Lyndon in the center of the room by the first. “Would you do the honors?” He said, gesturing to the urn on the floor.

“...What do I do?” Lyndon asked, a little unsure.

“Just touch it.”

“Oh uhm, _alright_.” He agreed hesitantly, then touched the one in the center of the room lightly.

Lyndon then decided that Mehtan the bloody _Necromancer_ was not in fact alright, because he neglected to tell Lyndon that horrible ghosts would come out of the walls and floor to attack them. But Lyndon was better than he used to be, and was quick on the draw. Which maybe...Mehtan _expected._ They had fought together once before, even if it felt like a lifetime ago.

Afterward, Mehtan explained that the candles and the lights scattered throughout Westmarch were to assist lost souls in finding their way. There had been a lot of people who died abruptly and may not have yet realized that they were dead.

“They must take their place in the great Cycle of Being, so that they are not condemned to wander.” Mehtan said as he cleaned up the mess they had made of the tavern. Even the skeletons were holding a broom each, and sweeping the floor mechanically, and at a closer glance, Lyndon realized that Mehtan was collecting the shimmery powdery leavings of the ghosts that they swept up, and was pouring it into a small drawstring bag.

It was all so strange that Lyndon wasn't quite sure if he had just fallen asleep next to Jack after they had tumbled together and this was all just some bizarre, upsetting _dream_. Either way, that meant that he was _late_ to his meeting with Kormac.

“I _just_ remembered I-”

“Ah, yes, your errand with the Templar, do not let me keep you, and if say, there _is_ someone you have lost recently, may I suggest lighting a candle for them tonight?”

“I will.” Lyndon said, he was planning to anyway, he'd planned to do it the moment the Priest had brought it up. He wouldn't ask how he knew about his appointment with Kormac, he assumed he could _see_ it on him or something like that, and besides there wasn't any time to ask.

“ _Thank you_.” Lyndon said for the second time, and meant it even more so than he did the first.

“You're welcome Lyndon, and do thank your Demon Hunter for his part in preserving the Balance for me.”

 _My Dem- and_ balance _? What does that even mean?!_

“I will!” Whatever.

Lyndon waved goodbye and ran out of Tustine's Brewery, wolf at his heels, toward the nearest waypoint. There was no time to walk now, and Kormac would _no doubt_ be cross with him, but Lyndon found he didn't mind all that much. Things were looking up.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Jack woke, information about where he was filtering in like syrup, thick and slow, but he felt warm at least, and he blinked in the low light the flickering fireplace cast. His head was aching _terribly_ along with the rest of him, some aches unfamiliar and confusing, but some more _pleasant_ than others with the memories they surfaced. He swallowed. His tongue felt huge, a slab filling his mouth. He'd cycled through periods of chills and sweats, but for now, it was less. He actually felt... alright. More alright then he had felt for some time. He likened that if weren't so tired, he might have even been able to eat something.

The events leading up to this moment of stillness felt like a bad dream, like a black, twisted nightmare full of death and cold and spirits. And he felt the familiar need to get up, to _do_ something, because he was so used to being up and about, that this felt beyond unnatural. But when he made an attempt to move, it took far more effort than he initially realized, and he quickly just felt far too tired to do anything else but lie there breathing and waiting for the room to stop moving.

When the dizziness passed, Jack turned his head a little and felt the warmth of the ferrets sleeping in bed with him, curled into a knotted ball behind his knees, and there was comfort to be found in that, it meant that there was something here with him and he was not _alone_. But at the same time, he realized with a jolt, that Lyndon was not here.

Lyndon, who's presence had been fading in and out of Jack's awareness for hours, perhaps even days. Sometimes sweet, and warm, but faint, like weak tea, but other times sharp as a knife and _ohmoregood_. He was not entirely sure how long they had been here. Here in this room, this _house_. Time clicked into place slowly, becoming linear like puzzle pieces being discovered, and then placed together to make a border before the center pieces could be filled in.

There was a folded piece of paper resting on the pillow beside him. A note, and Jack felt a sudden rush of churning fear, strong enough to make him ill and bring awareness in like gust of cold air. _It was a goodbye note_. He had done something wrong, had smothered him, had wanted too much, and Lyndon had left and he was not coming back.

With incredible effort, he forced his weak limbs to move, dislodging the ferrets, who trotted up to curl themselves at his neck instead, and he grabbed the paper, unfolding it with trembling hands, a mouthful of sour dread, and read it:

_Jack,_

_Out with Kormac, be back later._

_GO BACK TO SLEEP._

_Yours,_

_Lyndon_

 

All written in an obsessively _neat_ hand that he had not expected, and signed with a most obscene flourish. Jack read it several more times before it was able to properly sink in, then felt weak with relief, ferret whiskers sniffing and tickling his chin. And now, sluggish from the exertion of moving and the pounding in his heart, he soon followed Lyndon's advice, note clutched tightly in his fingers.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

He expected to be accosted with questions about Jack when he reached the Enclave, but when he arrived, the small grassy courtyard was mostly empty of people except for the caravan houses of their three artisans, along with Brycen, Kormac, and Eirena, the last two of which were currently involved in some type of discussion near the campfire.

Instead of stumbling in on an interesting _private_ discussion, what Lyndon was instead witnessing was perhaps, the most pathetic argument he had ever seen.

“What do you _mean_ you are going without me? Surely you could use all the help you can get Kormac?” Eirena said a little crossly, her arms folded crossly and an unhappy expression planted on her pretty face. She wasn't even _really_ all that upset, but Kormac was nearly crumbling beneath even the slightest suggestion of irritation directed at him from the little enchantress.

He floundered in his words, a red blush making his head look like a giant misshapen tomato. “Well, uhm, _well_ Eirena, uhm _Lyndon_ and I thought it best if uh-”

“Don't drag me into your lover's quarrel Kormac, I had _nothing_ at all to do with it.” Lyndon interrupted, drawing their gaze.

The Templar seemed hardly surprised by his sudden appearance, he just turned to Lyndon furiously. “It was _your_ idea!” Kormac bellowed, pointing at him, spit flying from his mouth. Well at least he had healed himself to be healthy enough to _yell_ at him...

Eirena, however, perked right up.

“ _Lyndon!_ ” She bubbled happily and ran over to hug him, which made him feel just a little bit warm and fuzzy inside. And made Kormac's face cycle through an amusing array of constipated expressions.

“How _are_ you? How is Jack? Is everything well? Oh it's so _good_ to see that you're alright!” She said in a rush, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

“Fine, likely still asleep, and _yes_. Everything's _fine_.” And it was wasn't it? “Lovely to see you too Eirena.” He answered briskly, giving her his best smile. “ _Kormac_ thought it would be best if we ran this little errand with just the two of us, that it would give us the chance to mend a few _bridges_.” Lyndon continued gently, releasing Eirena from his embrace in a timely fashion, and Eirena quickly moved to the wolf and smushed the beast's face in her dainty hands, petting vigorously.

Kormac, idiot that he was, only managed to look confused by Lyndon's words. “What?”

“Wasn't that _your_ idea Kormac?” Lyndon grit out with emphasis. Gods, you try to help someone out and they're just a _moron._ Bloody useless.

The Templar seemed to get it then. “Oh! Uhm... _Yes_?” He said, about as subtle as a drunken packbeast.

“Oh Kormac, that's very thoughtful of you, I didn't _realize_. I'm so glad that the two of you are trying to get along.” Eirena said with a happy, oblivious smile that Kormac wilted in the wake of.

“Yes. Kormac is _very_ thoughtful.” Lyndon said sweetly, smiling at Kormac who glowered at him. “Come, most _thoughtful_ and _sensitive_ Kormac. We have a bastion to lay siege to.” Lyndon said and lazily wandered back towards the waypoint.

“ _Right._ ” Kormac said, turning pink and joining Lyndon quickly.

“Yes, let the boys have their fun celsa, and come help Myriam bake some apple pie!” Myriam called from where she was seated on the stairs of her caravan, eavesdropping as _always_ , but _ooo! Pie!_

“Oh, yes!” Eirena said, pleased, then joined the mystic where they began talking rapidly and giggling like terrible gossips. Kormac had a rather uncertain and suspicious look on his face, but Lyndon had never been happier for Eirena, she finally had someone she could _talk_ to that was at least the same _gender_ as she was.

“Don't worry Kormac, I'm sure they're talking _all_ about you!” Lyndon said cheerfully, patting the Templar on the back.

“That's what _worries_ me.” Kormac mumbled, gripping his spear tightly in his hands.

Lyndon smiled at him, and gripped the wolf's scruff firmly so she would not be left behind. “Yes I know.” Then laughed at the Templar's unhappy face.

It was _good_ to have friends!

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

Hours later, giddy in the wake of their perfectly executed victory and Kormac's subsequent freedom from the corrupt Order, Lyndon bid Kormac goodnight while the poor Templar stumbled off to Haedrig's caravan (where he had been sleeping lately to get out of the cold) more than a little drunk off the ale they had shared in celebration (at Lyndon's _insistence_ of course) and childishly excited at the prospect of talking to a certain special lady the following morning.

Lyndon was almost shocked at how smoothly it had all gone, nothing ever went right it seemed, but this at least had. _Finally,_ something had worked out for the better. His arm had even been put to rights! Completely healed, and he flexed it a little, glad to not be hurting.

So far, no one has mentioned the supposed return of the Prime Evils, perhaps Lorath had taken his advice and told everyone not to bring it up. At least for now. And for that Lyndon was grateful.

The courtyard was quiet, everyone else had long since gone to sleep, and Lyndon made his way to Myriam's purple, sparkly caravan for one last thing. She was sitting on the steps with two cups of tea, as though she were expecting him. Knowing her, she very likely was.

“Come for a cuppa and a candle then love?” She asked him kindly, putting on a bit of a fake Kingsport accent, and patting the seat next to her. The ornate carpet that was set in front of her home was swept clean of snow and the little stove next to the stairs had made a dry patch on the surface. The black and white cat lay there currently, its stubby legs sticking straight out towards the warmth. The wolf left Lyndon's side and joined the chubby cat, laying in front of the fire happily.

“And apple pie too.” She added, producing a pie plate carefully wrapped. _Praise Akarat!_

Lyndon smiled, accepted the teacup, the pie, the red, cinnamon scented candle she held out for him, and took a seat next to her, balancing it all on his knees. Soft blue lights blinked in the potted plants and there was still some kind of sweet smelling pink stuff bubbling away in a pot. He took a sip of tea and sighed in contentment, feeling the hot liquid warming him from the inside and banishing the chill of the cold evening. Kingsport Black Mint. It was good to know that there were still some constants that he could rely on.

“Eirena's gone to sleep inside, and old Myriam will be heading to bed shortly too, but I just thought I'd wait up for you.” She said with a saucy wink. “Though I'm sure there's someone already waiting for you in the Heights, _isn't_ there?”

“Very _kind_ of you.” Lyndon said airily, ignoring her mention of Jack.

“Let me first just say that I am so _happy_ you made the right choice, I just _knew_ you could do it.” Myriam said proudly, patting his knee.

_Hold on. How did she-_

“You mean you _knew_ that I would live this whole bloody time and didn't think to let me in on that little detail?!” Lyndon hissed crossly.

“Ahhh, celdo, then the choice would have come easily. It only matters if it is hard.” Myriam answered with a gentle smile.

Lyndon sighed irritably. “Gods, do you know how _tired_ I am of witches?” He muttered, but she only giggled.

“ _Mystic_ , dear.”

“ _Whatever._ I don't care anymore. And it wasn't a _choice_. I just _did it_ was all.” Lyndon retorted hotly.

“Of course, love.” She said, and that didn't even mean _anything!_ He tried to scowl at her, but Myriam was beaming at him, so he just scowled into his tea instead. _Why did he talk to her again?_

“So.” She said after a minute or two of quiet.

“Soooo?” Lyndon mimicked, confused.

“How was it?” She asked vaguely.

“How was _what_?”

“You know what! The lovely time with your young man. Tell Myriam all _about_ it!” She insisted, throwing his own devilish smile back at him.

_Of all the miserable..._

“You really are a dirty, _dirty_ girl.” Lyndon muttered, exasperated. “I applaud you, truly, but my lips are sealed.” But then he smiled and added, “Sealed, to _most_ at least.”

And she laughed, and so did he, and really, he was _happy_ to see her. He was happy to see all of them.

“Well, if you ever want to talk. About this, that or the _other_. Myriam is here for you.” She offered kindly.

“Thank you, but believe it or not I _am_ capable of unaided introspection.” Lyndon said, giving the teacup back and getting up.

“Of course, celdo. Goodnight!” She called, and he left her to go to the locked community chest that held most of their possessions.

He unlocked it with the key that was given to him specifically for the chest, rather than the skeleton key, and dug through to the bottom to find his brother's urn. He pulled it out of the chest and closed the lid, setting the urn and the candle on top, side by side.

With shaking hands, he lit the candle flame and sat back on his heels and waited. For _what_ exactly he did not know.

He waited there for a long time until his legs ached and his hands and feet had begun to go numb from the cold. There was no one else awake now. He hadn't been sure what he'd been expecting, after all Edlin had died before the troubles even started. It was unlikely that his soul was lost. He'd probably been expecting death for quite some time before that. Lyndon wondered if Edlin knew something he didn't, maybe death by Rea's hand _hadn't_ come as a surprise to him. And while that thought was not a happy one, Lyndon had heard from the mouth of a long dead little girl, that death was not, in fact, so bad, and that Edlin was very likely in a far lovelier place than Sanctuary could ever be. Maybe he was even with their mum and dad, catching up on lost time.

Edlin's suffering was over. There was only Lyndon left to carry on without him. The only thing he could do now, would be to find out what really happened, then his brother could be properly laid to rest. He sat there and thought for a little while longer, hunching his shoulders against the cold.

He also wanted to try to do something to help Jack, but he wasn't sure _what_ exactly. Jack was unhappy, but he _loved_ Lyndon. He knew that much. And while this was _frightening_ , it was also... _good_. It filled Lyndon with something akin to hope, like he could have a future without loneliness, that he could build something lasting and good. _Something he could live for._ Lyndon wanted to know more, not just about what was going on inside that pretty head of his, but about his life, about what he was really like before all these terrible things had happened to him. Perhaps, _together_ , they could unearth the person he used to be, and Jack would see life as something worth living, instead of something that was to merely to be endured.

And maybe... if he helped Jack, he would be able to find a way to help himself too, atone for all the mistakes he had made in his life and do right by his brother.

And maybe... ( _just maybe)_ he could let love back into his heart.

The Demon Hunter's journal, closed off to him for so long, seemed like a damn good place to start.

Lyndon realized then, that Jack might have been awake and worrying about him. His brother probably would not mind if Lyndon left the candle burning for him while he went back to check on the Demon Hunter.

_(Your brother would be proud of the person you've become.)_

So Lyndon bid his brother goodnight and left, the wolf close behind, and took the waypoint back to Westmarch Heights.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

When Jack wakes again, it is on the tail end of a dream, a barely formed nightmare of his fingers, clawing red lines in skin that pales and fades and dies beneath his hands, a terrible, _terrible_ cold, and a voice that seethed with living hatred.

But when it is over, he is left shaky, sweaty and weak with exhaustion that would not release him, but his mind burned with a clarity he hadn't had before. A strange sharpness of reality. Everything had been soft and hazy for so long he had almost forgotten what it was like to be really _present_ . Jack blinked, soft morning light filtering in through the cracks in the curtains that were drawn tightly around the bed, a small den of warmth and darkness. But he could still see, no matter how dark it got he could _always_ see.

Lyndon lay asleep, burrowed deep under a pile of blankets, facing him. His mouth was slightly open, allowing soft, wheezy snores to escape. The wolf lay at the foot of the enormous bed, just past his feet, lying on her back with her front paws folded up on her belly like a seal. Lyndon's hair was a mess, and there was a mysterious bruise over his right eyebrow. Jack also notes that he looks very _tired_ , but he has never been so relieved to see him. It was like reality was cementing itself in his head, it was like... _yes_. Like waking after a terrible dream.

Jack touched his head gently, tucking hair behind his ears, and Lyndon shifts with a soft noise, revealing a puddle of drool on the pillow where his face had been. Jack slides in close against him, face in his neck and throws his arm around Lyndon's waist. For a long time, he is content to just lie there, reveling in the peace, and breathing lungfuls of calfskin and sandalwood.

He is not sure when he falls back asleep, but when he does it is a far more restful sleep than any drug could ever give him.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

When Lyndon got up in the early afternoon, spitting strands of black hair out of his mouth, Jack's fever had gone down to something less threatening and he was sleeping better then he had been able to since they'd first arrived here. Relieved, Lyndon got up and began to set his plan into motion.

He settled himself comfortably back in bed, sitting cross-legged at the foot, journal in hand, and a sizable selection of food for a late lunch from the pantry downstairs. Glancing at Jack again, he cautiously unwound the threads of leather that held the journal closed. He gazed at the drawing of Halissa for several long moments, so _strange_ to see it again, now that he has met her. He tucks it safely into the back of the journal, handling it as though it were a sheet of gold leaf, then turned to the first page and began to read.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

_Singing. Someone was singing._

The bed felt too soft, and he'd been lying in it for far too long. He'd gone years sleeping on the ground, and this bed felt as though he were sinking into it, like it could swallow him. He didn't feel tired anymore, he felt as though he had been asleep for years, but he felt _weak,_ as though he would collapse if he tried to stand. It was a frustrating feeling, but at least he could think clearly.

It was Lyndon who was singing, he was very quiet, and he hummed when he didn't remember the words, but Jack would know his voice anywhere: “-a _nd in that orchard there hm hm hmm, that was hanged with purple and gold, and in that hold there was a bed, and it was hanged with cords so red. Hmmm lu lay, hmm hm hm lay. The falcon hath borne my mate away..._ ”

Jack finally cracked open his eyes and saw the thief sitting cross-legged toward the end of the bed- a very _familiar_ falcon perched curiously upon his shoulder, and the raven was nesting in the blankets at his lap. He was looking down at a journal, reading, and there were various food items sitting on the bed around him: an open jar of preserved strawberries with a spoon sticking out of the top, a half eaten apple pie, preserved meat and a dark loaf of bread that had several bites missing from the end of it. Jack was unused to hearing any song from Lyndon that wasn't the drunken bleating of a bawdy tavern tune, it was odd for him to sing something so... _pretty_.

“ _And on this bed there lyeth a knight, his wound is bleeding day and night. By his bedside kneeleth a_ \- Oh.” Lyndon blinked at him, a faint flush creeping over his face at having been caught unawares.

“You're _awake_. How do you feel?” Lyndon asked softly, but before Jack could answer, he started to ramble a little nervously, “I found a lot of food downstairs, there's strawberries and some bread and dried meat, could you? I mean, do you think you could _eat_ something? There's some pie too, apple pie, do you _want_ some?”

Jack sat up, leaning against the pillows at his back and rubbed sleep out of his eyes. “That's a pretty song.” He rasped eventually, his throat felt raw, and his voice sounded like he had had been gargling shrapnel. Lyndon smiled at him a little awkwardly. He was acting strange Jack noticed, displaying none of his usual confidence.

“I thought so. I, uhm, I heard a woman sing it once. In a _cathedral_.” Lyndon put the journal he'd been reading down, and Jack noted with a bit of irritation that it was _his_. Lyndon gently moved the raven out of his lap and the falcon flew off of his shoulder with a small disgruntled peep, then perched itself atop one of the bed posts. He sprawled out next to Jack with a little sigh, and pulled a letter out of his shirt pocket, handing it to him.

“I didn't read it.” Lyndon said quickly, though the eager look in his eyes said that he'd desperately wanted to. Jack appreciated his discretion, _however_ -

“But you thought it fine to read my private journal. _Really_ Lyndon, you must learn to _ask_ first.” Jack said with mild irritation.

Lyndon laughed at that, and it was like puzzle pieces falling into place, like nothing at all had changed, and they very well could have been back in that little inn in Holbrook, talking together over breakfast. They thought made Jack's heart ache with an unfamiliar sensation. Something that could have been contentment, or far more baffling, _happiness_.

“I... didn't want you to say no again.” Lyndon admitted a little sheepishly.

“Ask me.” Jack said.

“What?” Lyndon blinked at him, confused.

“ _Ask me._ ”

“May I... read your journal?” The scoundrel asked a little hesitantly.

“ _Yes._ ”

And Lyndon laughed again, something in him relaxing, then he sat up, stretching his back and rolling his shoulders. His dark brown eyes were like a trick, they lent an innocence to his features, and along with his silly behavior, his childishness, Jack could almost forget that he had killed people, had killed _demons_ , had been to Heaven and Hell and back and had seen his brother's lifeless corpse. In the light now, his eyes weren't as dark, they sparkled, looking almost tawny. The letter in Jack's hands had a familiar wax arrow holding the edges of the paper together. He broke the seal and read quickly, unable to suppress the smile that crossed his features.

“You uhm...” Lyndon began a little awkwardly then cut himself off, looking away with uncharacteristic uncertainty. “What are _you_ so chipper about?” He said in a poor attempt to change the subject, interrupting himself.

“I'm glad my mentor is still alive is all, what were you going to say?” Jack prompted, then kept on smiling as the wolf got up off the floor and laid her massive head upon the bed for Jack's fingers to pet.

Lyndon looked away again, then down, twisting the blankets in his lap almost shyly.“You...uh, you haven't had much time to do what you want. You always do what _other_ people want, because you feel you _have_ to but....”

Jack could only stare at him.

“After, when y-you feel better... we can _go_ somewhere. Wherever you like!” Lyndon finished then grinned at him, expression a bit uncertain.

Jack's chest hurt from the sudden rush of nearly _unbearable_ fondness for Lyndon. But it was _more_ than fondness, it was (and he felt safe enough to admit it, at least in the privacy of his own head) it was _love_. It was like seeing the world in color for the first time after a decade of looking at it through web and soot fogged glass.

He glanced down at the letter in his hands, then back at Lyndon and leaned in close to kiss the edge of his eye gently.

“North.” Jack said. “I want to go North.”

Lyndon rolled his eyes and sighed, then turned his face into Jack's hair and just _breathed_ , deep and slow.

“ _Fine_ then.”

 

 

―End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah this is a better ending then where I left off before I guess...
> 
> The dialogue Mehtan gave about it being right to grieve was taken from Brian Jacques, Taggerung. I thought it fit because Mehtan is a super nice guy.
> 
> The song Lyndon was singing is a hymn dating from the 1500s titled 'Corpus Christi Carol' wikipedia tells me that there have been many different versions of this song and that the original manuscript contained only the lyrics, music being added and altered later. One theory about the song's meaning makes reference to the legend of the Holy Grail. In many versions of the legend's tale, the 'Fisher King' is the knight who protects the Grail, and whose legs are perpetually wounded, making him incapable of moving on his own. While he is indisposed, his kingdom suffers, becoming a barren wasteland, which might be what the lyrics “orchard brown” are referring to. The lyrics describing the bleeding knight might also be a reference to Christ, who is ever bleeding for the sins of humanity.
> 
> If you'd like an idea as to what the song sounds like, here is a link to my favorite version: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wxqwq9BnjT0
> 
> And while I doubt Lyndon has as pretty a falsetto as Mr. Buckley's, I'm sure he sang it just fine all the same.
> 
> I hope that these last two chapters didn't seem overly long and boring. I wanted to make sure I wrapped everything up alright and most of the events were designed specifically to put Lyndon in a better place then he'd been in for the entire story, so I felt it was important to do so, even though there wasn't much that was actually happening. I plan to write up the incident with Kormac's order as its own separate one-shot story at some point because I felt like I was just trying to fit too much in here already. Please let me know what you think in the comments!
> 
> Special thanks to: StellarWing, AndyAO3 and Jogurtron for tolerating (and shamelessly encouraging) my ceaseless ramblings.
> 
> And thanks to each and every one of you who have left kudos and comments and valuable feedback! It really means a lot to me to know that people are not only reading but actually -enjoying- what I have produced! You're all the best!
> 
> Jack and Lyndon will return in: 'The Spine of the Father,' and 'Cemeteries of the West... and Beyond!' Because I cannot be stopped.
> 
> Epilogue to follow, 4realz this time (I'm totally serial you guyz)


	26. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super long epilogue because I have no self control or discipline.
> 
> This has been a wild ride guys, thanks for sticking with it. <3

_Dig deep, kicking up rock and dirt and sand_  
_Out of this lifeless valley, bones in hand_  
_Over these mountains to the seas of life_  
_Leave this desert for the sick and damned_  
― _Dry Bone Valley_ , Mastodon

 

The bustling market district was more lively than Jack thought it would be, the area was still largely under re-construction, but as the weeks went by, more and more people started to return to the capitol and set up shop once more. Pretty lanterns lined the street from one end to the other and steam billowed out from food stands. The surviving Westmarch hounds wove between legs and through alleyways, hoping to find a dropped scrap.

Shen had insisted that they all go to the Night Markets, and eventually everyone had agreed, they'd even managed to drag Haedrig along with them through half-hearted grumblings and protests, though the blacksmith and the jeweler had soon disappeared somewhere together between the spiced meat and beer carts, and Jack assumed they would likely not be seeing much of them for the rest of the evening.

It was wonderful to see the empty streets filling with life again, and Jack was more than grateful for something that could replace the memories of corpse lined streets with something gentler. Something that proved that _yes_ , they could come back from this, that life _went on_.

And besides, merchants _always_ came back first, as Lyndon had told him.

“And what about this one?” Jack asked the rogue, pointing to a silver goblet at a market stand advertising various antiquities.

Lyndon peered at it for less than three seconds before he made an annoyed sound and rolled his eyes. “Do you see how the edges aren't even tarnished there? It can't be much older than a few years. Not completely worthless but _certainly_ not an antique, and not worth _that_ outrageous price. The nerve of some people. Do you know that I've seen merchants try to pass off tin as _silver_? I mean, they don't even weigh the same, it's just absurd.” Lyndon went on and on about hallmarks to watch for with fake art, jewelry and other antiques, but instead of his attention wandering, Jack found it rather interesting, he'd had no idea that faking precious artifacts had become such a lucrative business, though he realized he should have really known better, but at the _very least_ he knew the difference between tin and silver.

“They dip metal into sawdust and ammonia to make it look old and try to pass it off as antique too, and you know I once had a shady looking bastard try to tell me that a pile of glass rings he had was a collection of rare diamonds from the mines in Caldeum, but the gems were set with such an _obviously_ rubbish metal, no self respecting jeweler would have even _considered_ -”

“How do you know all this?” Jack interrupted him, curious.

“Thief. Hello.” Lyndon said, pointing to himself, “I sold what I stole, unless I wanted it for myself. I had to know I wasn't being swindled as well."

“Ah.”

"That and the Thieves Guild doesn't appreciate being fooled.” Lyndon added darkly. "You learn not to bring back fakes."

They walked together, getting a lot of stares, though Jack could not be sure this was because they were the ones responsible for saving the city (and the world by proxy) or because Lyndon was carefully leading him, arm looped with his, and utterly oblivious to any odd looks they received. That or he simply didn't care. Likely both. Jack had been feeling a bit self conscious about it, he'd never liked to be stared at after all, but no matter. It was comforting to have someone to lean on when he grew tired, which happened more often than he would have liked. Bruises had healed, cuts mended. It had been over two weeks since Malthael's defeat but he had been in and out of bed for days and days. _Not that it had been all bad_ , he thought, glancing sidelong at Lyndon, feeling his face heat a little. It had been a bizarre, hazy cycle of being woken periodically to having spoonfuls of porridge shoved at him, or a glass of water held out expectantly, and Lyndon had even helped wobble to the bath on more than one occasion so that he could bathe or relieve himself. He supposed it should have been a humiliating experience, so used to being on his own as he was, but he'd found he'd been so terribly tired and wretchedly grateful for Lyndon even being alive and there with him there that he simply hadn't the energy to care. 

“I don't know if it's _all_ bad.” Lyndon had said to him, trying to comfort him when he had been too unwell to visit everyone at the Enclave a few days ago. “Eat and lie in bed all week, not to mention the privilege of my most excellent company, sounds like a holiday to _me_.”

 _A holiday._ Jack was beginning to see the good in it.

He'd had a lot of time to think about what had happened. About the power that had enabled his victory. It was paramount that he learn to control it or else it would continue to drain him to nothing at each use. He'd likened it to trying to sing with a scream, an unfocused eruption of noise that caused more internal damage than anything else. Only when he had control back in his grasp, would he feel truly safe again.

There was more he still needed to think about. About himself _and_ Lyndon, but he wanted the peace he felt to last just a little bit longer, unwilling to shatter it with doubt just yet.

But the itch to get up and _do_ something became more insistent with each passing day, and well... there was one thing that still troubled him... his earlier failure.

When he'd finally gathered the strength to go to the Enclave, Eirena and Kormac had been overjoyed to see him, and while Lyndon's company was _wonderful_ and more than he could ask for, he found he had still missed the enchantress and the Templar immensely. Well, he supposed he should say _former_ Templar now. At first he had been a bit upset that Lyndon and Kormac had gone without his assistance, but he had realized it had been good for both of them, they needed to understand one another better and stop arguing so damned much.

And it was good for Lyndon to have friends.

He had spoken to Lorath shortly after their happy reunion to inquire about how things had been getting on in the wake of Malthael's defeat (Lyndon had been seething curiously beside him, shooting the Horadrim threatening glances for unknown reasons) and he had learned some startling new information:

“I did some research with several of the tomes I had recovered from within the tomb of Rakkis. They had been written in a strange cypher that myself and others had been unable to translate. Tyrael said that the language was familiar to him, yet he still could not read it.” The Horadrim said to Jack while they sat together at Haedrig's forge, waiting for the Blacksmith to dig up an old bow that he claimed he'd never gotten around to selling. A temporary replacement for his lost weapons.

“The knowledge that I've learned from Cain's tomes, has enabled me to begin translating, and I must say I am extremely grateful to you for allowing me to read them.” Lorath said gently.

“Leah...would have wanted that.” Jack said, and Lorath nodded, glancing at the ground a moment. The mark on Jack's forearm that had been left by the witch had faded significantly as he'd recovered, but he could still see a trace. A reminder until the end of his days. Not that he would have _ever_ forgotten.

“The process is a bit slow, but it is coming along. The language appears to be some bizarre mixture of Angelic and Demonic, a dialect all its own.” Lorath continued, showing him a few pages written in a faded blue ink.

“Nephalem?” Jack guessed.

“Yes!” Lorath smiled widely. “I've learned a few things that I thought you'd be very interested to know, for one thing, Nephalem were known to eat _more_ than normal humans do now. I suspect this is because their great power took much energy to use. Even Mages today have healthier appetites then most after all.”

Jack blinked. _Oh._

Lyndon was looking at _him_ now with a mixture of anger, disappointment, and terrible concern. “You mean to tell me that you're supposed to be eating _more_?! No wonder you're a bloody mess all the time!” He snapped. Lorath pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and looked slightly nervous, likely fearing he had started some kind of fight.

“Well, how was _I_ supposed to know that!” Jack countered, but there was a feeling of shame and foolishness beneath it all.

“You don't! But you're supposed to _eat_ when you're hungry you stupid tart!” Lyndon grit out furiously.

Jack supposed Lyndon had him there. But hadn't had the heart to tell him that actually _wanting_ food for something beyond the purpose of keeping him alive was a new change. Before it had been nothing but a task he knew he needed to do, but not something he'd enjoyed. Much like sleep. He hadn't quite tasted his food in years.

_But now..._

“You'll just have to help me then, won't you?” He'd said quietly, uncertainty burning in his chest.

Lyndon smiled at him then, and shook his head with a laugh, anger forgotten, “Gods you are so bloody stupid... but yes, yes of _course_. You're going to try my favorite _everything_.”

And then Haedrig had returned with the bow, making Jack forget all about food for the moment so that he could admire the marvelous weapon held before him. It was all beautiful ebony wood and inlaid silver. Carved metal blades curled off of the ends, and adorned the widest curves. An excellent piece of superb craftsmanship. He took it gingerly from the blacksmith's hands and felt the weight of it in his grip, the balance, and length. He held it aloft and drew the bow string back with ease, feeling the unfamiliar pull in the muscles of his shoulder.

“Lyndon dropped this off t' me months ago back in Caldeum, and I hadn't the heart to use it fer parts or even t' sell it on account of it's fine craftsmanship. I'd kept it on the wall of my house ever since. I suppose it's finally come in handy now for yeh.” Haedrig explained while Lyndon looked suitably guilty for having never shown it to Jack at all, though he'd _known_ the Demon Hunter was a practiced archer, arbalist, and avid bow enthusiast.

“That.... was uhm, before we were... _friends_.” He muttered awkwardly, offering a weak smile. “I'd forgotten all about it.”

“It's alright. You found it, you were free to do as you pleased.” Jack said, smirking.

“It's... _good_ then?” Lyndon asked hopefully.

“Top quality. Though a few enchants couldn't hurt when I can get the supplies, but _thank you_ Haedrig. I'm glad you hung onto it.”

“Bah, it was just collectin' dust on my wall anyway. Bow like that deserves t'be used.” Haedrig answered gruffly.

Though ultimately, Jack wanted a new pair of crossbows instead of a bow because of their versatility, Haedrig did not have the specific materials that were required to create them, and Jack only had a few drawings of them, hardly good enough for a blacksmith to go by, even for one as talented as Haedrig. He would need to speak with the Demon Hunter clockmaker to acquire his design. For now though, the bow was more that suitable to fulfill his requirements.

“Perhaps Myriam could offer something in the meantime?” The mystic spoke up from where she had been hanging up clothes to dry on the line stretching across her caravan. Always listening in it seemed.

“You have some skill in enchanting?” Jack asked curiously.

“Of course! Though I usually charge for such a service, but for _you_ I will do it for free.” She said with a particularly saucy wink.

He sighed, wondering what he was in for.

She took the bow from his hands and disappeared into her home briefly, before returning with a bundle of dried plants, unidentifiable bones, a vial of something pink and a hawk's wing. He observed curiously as she lit the bundle of materials to a smoking smolder, poured the pink liquid into the burning mass of materials, then waved the smoke over the weapon.

“Hmmm, what shall we choose, ah? How about...” She closed her eyes and chanted something in a language that he did not understand. As she finished speaking a soft breeze flared to life over the ebony wood, and seemed to cling to the very fiber of the bow.

“ _The wind carries life for those enveloped in its flow, and death for those arrayed against it.”_ She said as she handed it back to him, smiling.

The bow now rested against his back as they all explored the Night Markets, and Jack was relieved to have that protection back, he'd never gone so long without at least one weapon on his person.

A woman emerged from the bakery to their left to greet them as they passed. Jack recognized her as one of the people who had taken refuge with them in the Enclave.

“Hello, I don't know if you remember me from the Enclave, my name is Briella.” The woman said a bit nervously, her hands winding into her apron pockets self consciously.

“I remember. You were from Bramwell weren't you?” Jack said, and the woman nodded, smiling.

“Oh! Yes, but I've found Westmarch to my liking so I decided to stay. I purchased this empty bakery! I was the best baker in Bramwell you see, and I'm so grateful to you for saving us...uhm, I'll make whatever you like! Just say the word!” Briella said excitedly.

Before Jack could tell her that it wasn't necessary, Lyndon elbowed his way between them and took one of her hands in his and kissed it, then introduced himself. “ _Lyndon_ , darling, so lovely to meet you.” Briella turned six shades of red at that and Jack felt himself bristling in irritation. Lyndon pointed at Jack and kept on talking rapid fire, “Uhm _he'll_ have chocolate cake, and pumpkin pie, and strawberry tart... are strawberries still in season? No? Apple pie then. A crumble too. Lots of all of those _please_ and _thank_ you.”

“Leave the poor woman _alone_ Lyndon. I thought you hatedWestmarch's food?” Jack intervened, allowing Briella the chance to curtsy, then politely excuse herself back into the safety of her bakery.

“A lot of it is boiled rubbish, true, but if you're _rich_ your dining options become much improved. And I never said I hated cake. Nobody _hates_ cake.” Lyndon said cheerfully, waving at the girl through the window while she weakly waved back.

“I _like_ corned beef and cabbage, with turnips. That's not boiled rubbish.” Kormac spoke up crossly, a few paces ahead of them.

Lyndon thought on this, “I suppose you're right for once Kormac. It _is_ good.”

“Especially when I make it ah, celdo?” Myriam chimed in from where she, Eirena, and Brycen were examining a rack of pretty fabric that a rather nervous looking tailor was selling.

“Yes, _especially_.” Lyndon said sweetly.

Jack smiled, despite how unwell he had felt at the time of eating it, he had liked it too. He supposed he should, he had grown up eating it after all.

“What about these colors?” Eirena asked, holding pinks, and purples, and sea foam greens, flush with the excitement of finally being able to replace her much worn clothing. Myriam even offered to help make a few things with her when she'd picked something out. _She deserves this_ , Jack thought. She deserved something normal. His last memories of Eirena had been their goodbye and her in tears, begging them to live so that she would not be alone. It was _good_ to see her smile again. Brycen too, seemed happy beside her. Haedrig had given the lad some money (in exchange for his work, Haedrig had gruffly insisted, but it was _far_ more than what most Blacksmiths would have been able to make in a year, even during wartime). Brycen was finding garments that actually _fit_ him properly, and even got a small leather collar to loop over the bony vertebrae neck of Spots the undead bulldog.

Oh. Perhaps _Spots_ was why people were nervous and staring at the lot of them.

_Ah, well... whatever._

Lyndon was looking past him to Kormac, observing the poor Templar struggling to converse with Eirena while she examined fabric with Myriam. As far as Jack knew, Kormac had not yet informed her that he had left the Templar Order and Lyndon had been urging him to tell her ever since.

Lyndon's face soon took on the cheerful yet mischievous expression he sometimes wore that meant he was about to happen to someone, then disentangled himself from the hunter's arm.“Eirena those are just _lovely_ , and see how this one matches your eyes? Very pretty! Don't you _agree_ Kormac? Wouldn't you say that Eirena would just look _marvelous_?” Lyndon exclaimed happily, staring right at the ex-Templar, an impish glint in his eyes.

Lyndon could charm the birds out of the trees, but Kormac was not so graceful with his compliments. The former Templar tried to make some noise to agree but it came out garbled, sounding more like “Gnngghhh!”

Eirena only managed to smile weakly, looking a bit confused, while Brycen seemed nervous. Lyndon was practically vibrating from the effort of holding his laughter in, but he shoved hard at Kormac's shoulder and attempted to pull him out of earshot. Eirena was distracted, happily talking to Myriam, but Jack could still hear Lyndon and Kormac's conversation easily.

“ _Don't you have something very important to say to Eirena right now?! Your vows?!”_ Lyndon hissed hoarsely, trying to keep from yelling.

“ _I've been thinking... talking to Eirena. I don't uhm, I don't think I can do that...”_ Kormac mumbled back back, looking ill.

“ _Shall I talk to her then?”_ Lyndon asked sweetly.

“ _You? Don't you uhm... aren't you...? No, no! I'll talk to her!”_ Kormac responded resolutely.

“ _Excellent!”_ Lyndon went back to the Demon Hunter's side, wearing a smug expression.

“Uhm... Eirena?” Kormac began, moving in beside her and toying lightly with the end of a piece of hanging silk.

“Yes?” The enchantress answered, smiling.

And Kormac's courage faltered, “Oh, uhm. It's nothing of any import... Nevermind.”

“ _Kormac!_ ” Jack urged, tired of watching the poor man embarrass himself.

“Gods, he even makes _you_ look good at this.” Lyndon said to him, trying and failing to contain his giggles.

Jack scowled at him. “It's not _funny_ Lyndon!”

Lyndon snorted. “Right. It's _hilarious_.”

“Kormac's _trying_.” Jack insisted while the poor man fumbled through his words.

“Eirena...” Kormac began again, while the enchantress simply stared at him. “I uhm, I just wanted to inform you that I've uh...”

“You've.... _what_?” Eirena pressed, confused.

Kormac took a deep, steadying breath. “I've left the Order! I'm no longer a Templar! Nor bound by their rules!” He exclaimed a little too loudly.

Eirena blinked at him curiously, “What... are you saying?”

“I would like it if.... I mean when this is over, uh, would you consider adventuring at my side?” Kormac finished, sweat clearly visible on his brow.

But Eirena smiled, all bubbly enthusiasm and glowing happiness, “Of course I would! I would be honored to fight alongside you! I feel as close to you as any of my sisters!” She burst out.

“Oh _Gods_ , Oh _Gods! SISTERS!_ PFFFTTT!” Lyndon squeaked, holding his fist to his mouth, trying desperately not to scream with laughter.

“ _Stop it!_ ” Jack snapped at him.

“Don't ruin this for me!” The rogue ground out, wheezing.

“Oh...” Kormac mumbled, frowning and staring at his boots. “Yes... of course. Sisters... Indeed.”

Jack sighed, feeling sorry for Kormac. “There's nothing to ruin.” He muttered.

“And that's our cue to _leave_.” Lyndon whispered to him, still grinning, and steered Jack away down the lantern lit street.

 

=+=+=+=+=+=

 

They walked, enjoying each other's company as the streets grew darker and emptier, but neither of them had much to fear from the darkness. They had already contended with what dwelt within. They cut through the park while Lyndon happily chatted away, telling Jack stories about when he was younger and things he had done in the Thieves Guild. Amusing things. _Happy_ things. It was good.

Eventually, they ended up back at the gates of Briarthorn Cemetery. One more bad memory to replace, then there would be only the guilt left to contend with. He couldn't be happier that Lyndon was all smiles and confident swagger again, but he dreaded the coming conversation, but knew that if he did not say something to Lyndon that it would slowly eat him from the inside out.

Lyndon frowned, a little put out by the familiar sight of the gates. “Ah the _cemetery_! The dead center of where the local bodies meet... _Must_ we?”

“Just a visit.” Jack said to him and they went inside, the iron gates creaking long and pitched.

Expecting darkness, Jack was pleasantly surprised to see an enormous collection of candles and lanterns piled around the fountain. There were so many tiny flickering flames that the very air around them felt warmer. It was... _pretty_. There was not a sound to be heard. No moaning of corpses or the sobbing of ghosts, just the soft breeze of frigid wind. There were no corpses piled here anymore, and Jack could finally imagine the peaceful place the Myriam described when they first met her here.

“I hear people are choosing cremation over traditional burial now. I think it shows that they are thinking _outside_ of the box.” Lyndon remarked, inspecting the collection of candles.

Jack sighed, but was amused anyway.

“Do you think gravediggers get their coffee among the _burial grounds_?” The rogue asked, grinning.

“ _Lyndon._ ”

“You know, if it weren't for all the dead things here, this might have been romantic.” Lyndon continued breezily.

The hunter laughed at that, but he sat carefully down on a nearby bench to rest himself, feeling the dread pooling in his gut as the cold from the wrought metal seat seeped through his clothes. Best not to wait a moment longer.

“I-I wanted to talk to you...” Jack began, the words sticking in his throat.

"If this is about Brittany, I was just being friendly!" Lyndon hurriedly insisted.

" _Briella_. And it's not that I... I wanted to apologize."

Lyndon's demeanor changed immediately to a concerned curiosity and he sat down beside the Demon Hunter. “Whatever for?” Lyndon asked seriously, then took one of Jack's hands in his. It helped, but... not enough.

“For...” Jack swallowed. “For not going to Kingsport _first_.” He managed to grit out.

“But... what do you mean?” The scoundrel urged unhappily.

It was getting harder to breathe, Jack could feel his hands shaking a little. Gods, why had he brought it up _now_? When everything had been going so well? It would only make Lyndon upset and it wouldn't change anything. Couldn't he just enjoy what he had? _Apparently not_. He had to self sabotage every scrap of joy he acquired because he didn't deserve it, he wasn't good enough or meant to know peace he should have just kept it to himself _Gods what's wrong with me_ -

“Hey, shh, calm down it's alright.” Lyndon murmured, his free hand stroking the back of his neck, and Jack realized he had been panting.

“Why are you apologizing for that?” Lyndon pressed.

Jack pulled a deep breath, “If... If I hadn't made us go to Caldeum first... and New Tristram... then Edlin would still be-”

“No. Nonononononono. Stop right there.” Lyndon interrupted seriously, then caught his eyes, a resolute expression on his face.

“Listen to me _very carefully_ Jack. It's no one's fault. Not mine, and _especially_ not yours. The only person who is at fault is the one who murdered him, do you understand?” Lyndon said, and Jack nodded, feeling a weight leaving him.

“We'll find out who that person is, but first we will be apparently going up North to enjoy the spectacular weather they have at this time of the year, alright?” Lyndon finished, smiling.

If Lyndon did not blame himself, then Jack could not either. The relief was draining, he wanted to curl into bed as soon as possible.

“It's lovely in the winter.” Jack offered, and Lyndon barked a laugh.

“I can hardly _wait_!” The rogue said sarcastically, “You won't have to worry about the Pri- er, _anything_! You won't have to worry about _anything_ at all. Nothing...to be...concerned... _shit_.” Lyndon trailed off then put his face in his hands, cursing.

Hold on.

“The Prime Evil is free to walk to world again... isn't it.” Jack stated blandly.

Lyndon peeked at him between his fingers cautiously. “ _Define_.... free to walk the world.” He said airily.

Jack breathed a sigh and waited for the information to sink in. But he found that though the news was terrible.... he didn't feel afraid about the future, only a low burning rage at the _gall_ the great demon lord had to even make a second attempt. For now, he felt confident that he could kill it. Malthael had been... trying. But he'd gotten much _stronger_.

“When were you going to tell me?” Jack asked quietly.

“Oh, not for another month at _least_.” Lyndon said with false cheer.

“Well, we'll just have to enjoy ourselves while we can then... won't we?” The Demon Hunter said, eyes reflecting the thousands of candles before them. One for every person lost.

_Live for those who cannot._

“Won't we _just_?” Lyndon answered, grinning.

There was an uncertain future brewing ahead of them, as there always was. That seemed to be the way of things, but for now they had time, which was a lot more than what they'd had weeks ago. And Jack had a _reason_ , which was far more than he'd had in years. The world was larger than he thought it was, there were so many places to visit, so many things to see and _experience_ , he had a lot of catching up to do, and then he would meet his fate head on, on his terms.

 

 


End file.
